#they have bpd. deep and exhausted sigh.

[nicepersondisorder]

turns one of the people who wants to call me a friend called his shitty ex a narcissist despite me telling our whole friendgroup how he should Not luse it as an insult, at least two other people with cluster b agreeing with me and talking how narcissistic absue is incorrect and harmful wording AND me telling him specifically that i have npd after he said some bullshit about bpd and cluster b in general. his ass is not getting my friendship 🥰

[lanawrx]

Mash Burnedead with a BPD! Girlfriend

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You had been in a bad mood all day. Everything seemed to set you off, from the way the sun shone too brightly through the classroom windows to the annoying chatter of your classmates. By the time you met up with Mash after classes, you were on edge, every little thing irritating you.

Mash noticed immediately, as he always did. “You okay?” he asked in that soft, steady voice of his, looking down at you with concern in his honey-colored eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you snapped, but even you knew you didn’t sound convincing.

Mash didn’t push, but his silence was enough to make you feel guilty. You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I’m sorry. It’s just… been a rough day.”

Without saying a word, Mash reached out and gently took your hand, leading you to a quiet spot under a large oak tree on campus. You sat down together, the cool shade offering some relief from the heat.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Mash asked, his voice gentle.

You shook your head, feeling the familiar sting of tears. “I don’t even know where to start. It’s just… everything feels overwhelming.”

Mash nodded, not pressing you further. He simply sat beside you, offering his presence as a comforting anchor. The steady rise and fall of his breathing helped ground you, and after a while, you felt the tension in your body start to ease.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you,” you finally said, your voice quiet. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” Mash replied, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “I know you didn’t.”

His understanding made the guilt worse, but it also made you feel safe. You knew you could be yourself around him, even on your worst days, and he wouldn’t judge you for it.

You and Mash rarely fought, but when you did, it was usually over something trivial. Like today, when you were determined to skip dinner and head straight to bed after a long, exhausting day.

“You need to eat,” Mash insisted, standing in your dorm room doorway, blocking your path to your bed.

“I’m not hungry,” you shot back, crossing your arms stubbornly. “I just want to sleep.”

Mash frowned slightly, his concern evident. “You’ll feel worse tomorrow if you don’t eat anything.”

You glared at him, your frustration boiling over. “Why do you always have to be so stubborn?”

Mash’s frown deepened, but he didn’t back down. “I’m just trying to take care of you.”

The sincerity in his voice made your anger falter, and you sighed, your shoulders slumping. “I know. But… I just don’t feel like eating.”

Mash studied you for a moment before stepping aside. “Okay. But promise me you’ll eat something in the morning.”

You nodded, feeling both guilty and relieved that he wasn’t pushing further. “I promise.”

As you climbed into bed, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for how you had reacted. Mash had only been trying to help, and you knew that. But sometimes, it was hard to accept that help, even when you needed it most.

Before he left, Mash leaned down and kissed your forehead. “Goodnight,” he said softly.

“Goodnight, Mash,” you murmured, watching as he quietly left your room.

The next morning, you woke up with a heavy heart, the events of the previous day weighing on you. You felt guilty for how you had treated Mash, and the thought of facing him made your stomach churn. But you knew you couldn’t avoid him forever.

You found him in the courtyard, practicing his exercises as usual. Taking a deep breath, you approached him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Mash,” you called out, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Good morning.”

“I… I’m sorry about last night,” you blurted out, your words tumbling over each other in your rush to apologize. “I was being stubborn and difficult, and you didn’t deserve that.”

Mash paused his exercises and walked over to you, his expression softening. “It’s okay. I know you were having a hard time.”

“But it’s not okay,” you insisted, tears welling up in your eyes. “You deserve better than that.”

Mash gently wiped away a tear that escaped down your cheek. “You’re doing your best. That’s enough for me.”

His words broke something inside you, and you threw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

Mash wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. “You’ll never have to find out,” he murmured, his voice full of quiet reassurance.

One afternoon, you were in the library, desperately trying to finish an assignment that was due the next day. You had been staring at the same paragraph for over an hour, unable to focus as anxiety gnawed at the edges of your mind.

Mash quietly sat down next to you, his presence immediately calming your nerves. “Need help?” he asked.

You shook your head, frustrated. “I just can’t concentrate. It’s like my brain won’t work.”

Mash nodded, understanding without judgment. “How about we take a break?”

You hesitated, knowing you didn’t have much time left, but the thought of continuing to struggle on your own was too exhausting. “Okay.”

Mash led you out of the library and onto the grassy lawn outside. You sat together in silence, letting the warmth of the sun and the cool breeze help clear your mind.

After a few minutes, Mash pulled out a small crumpled bunch of wildflowers he had picked on the way over. “For you,” he said simply, holding them out to you.

You took the flowers, a smile finally breaking through your frustration. “Thank you,” you whispered, touched by the simple yet thoughtful gesture.

The break was exactly what you needed, and when you returned to your assignment, you found that your mind was clearer, and the words came more easily. With Mash’s support, you finished the assignment with time to spare, feeling a sense of accomplishment that had been missing earlier.

As you packed up your things, you looked over at Mash, who was quietly reading a book beside you. “I don’t know how you do it,” you said softly.

“Do what?” he asked, looking up at you.

“Put up with me,” you admitted, your voice laced with guilt. “I’m all over the place, and you’re always so calm and patient.”

Mash shrugged, a small smile on his lips. “I care about you. And I like being with you, even on the tough days.”

His words were simple, but they meant the world to you. Mash’s steady presence and unwavering support were the anchors that kept you grounded, even when everything else felt out of control.

As you sat beside Mash on his bed, the silence between you felt heavy, but not uncomfortable. You were still reeling from the emotions of your earlier argument, and the guilt gnawed at you. You had been so sure that you had pushed him too far this time, that maybe he would decide he’d had enough of your mood swings and stubbornness.

But as you sat there, Mash's presence brought a calm that you desperately needed. He reached out, taking your hand in his. His touch was gentle, reassuring, and the warmth of it spread through you like a comforting balm.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said quietly, his honey-colored eyes meeting yours. “Everyone has their moments. I don’t mind being here for you, even when things get tough.”

You blinked, the sincerity in his voice almost too much to bear. “But I feel like I’m always messing things up,” you admitted, your voice barely steady. “You’re always so patient, and I just… I don’t deserve that.”

Mash’s expression softened even more. He reached out, gently cupping your cheek as if you were made of delicate porcelain. “You’re not messing anything up,” he said. “We’re both learning, right? And I care about you—stubbornness, mood swings, and all.”

Your heart swelled at his words. It wasn’t often that you felt truly understood, but Mash always seemed to know just what to say, how to make you feel like you weren’t a burden. It was one of the many reasons you were falling for him.

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. “I’m really glad I have you,” you whispered, the words laced with all the gratitude you felt.

Mash wrapped an arm around you, holding you close. “I’m glad too,” he replied softly.

For a while, you just sat there, savoring the quiet moment together. The tension from earlier was gone, replaced by a sense of peace and understanding. It wasn’t always easy, but with Mash by your side, you felt like you could handle anything.

As you sat there in his comforting embrace, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you were starting to believe that you were worthy of this kind of love—the kind that was patient, kind, and unwavering, even on your hardest days.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡ Thanks for Reading! ˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆

[drama-rebellion]

Just a normal day

(A short insight of a usual day in my life with bpd, depression, ED and alcohol abuse and what I do to get through it...)

It’s a cold February morning. Pitch black, the dying night encloses the world. The freezing wind blows through the open window, where I lean on the sill, a cigarette in my trembling hand. I shiver despite my fluffy morning gown. Damn, how I hate the winter. Except some distant streetlights and the glowing of the cigarette, it is dark. A car passes by in the distance now and then, the only sign of life in this forsaken town. I dump the cig in the improvised ashtray and close the window.

I look at the clock. Half past six. A deep sigh escapes my throat. In the bathroom, I dare to glance at the mirror. I look horrible. Filthy hair, eyes sunken in, pale skin. I should shower, but I don’t want to. I don’t remember when my skin has seen water the last time. Must be days. I feel deep disgust towards my reflection and quickly turn around. I scrape together the tiny shards of my motivation and get some clean clothes out of my closet. Nothing fits together, but at least they are clean and warm. Back in the bathroom, I get rid of my dirty t-shirt and sweatpants. It feels like forever until the water in the shower gets warm. Quickly, I rub shampoo in my hair and soap on my body to get rid of the sticky sweat from the night. I skip conditioner and shaving, I just want this to be over as fast as possible. I wash it all off and am already out again. Didn’t take me longer than a minute. The cold air hits and covers me instantly in goosebumps. Once clothed, I sigh again. This tiny act of self-care was exhausting.

For a while, I just sit on my bed, waiting for my heart to calm down again. It’s too quiet, so I put on my “fucked up”-Playlist. It basically always fits. My room is a mess, but I don’t really care. Maybe later I will have the energy to clean a little. In the kitchen I make myself some coffee, although I don’t really feel like it. But that’s what normal people do in the morning, right? Take a shower, drink coffee…the fridge is almost empty. Only some sad fruit eke out of their existence. I put the steaming cup on my nightstand and get half a bottle of wine from the drawer. Leftovers from the night before. I have to hold my breath once I open it, the smell is nauseating. I gulp it down and have to focus on not puking. It tastes terrible. Quickly I drink a few sips of coffee. Disgusting combination. I put the empty bottle in the bag where I collect them. Got to expose of them later.

The minutes pass and the clock hits 7am. My clue. I pull myself together, put on shoes and jacket. Armed with my backpack and blaring headphones in my ears, I grab my keys and wallet, put my beanie on. Once outside, I curse the winter again. I ignore my shaking legs and haste down the sidewalk. It’s not far to the store, but yet I get out of breath. My stamina has decreased rapidly during the last few months. Another thing I don’t care about. On my way I see a lot of kids on their way to school, it’s in the same street as the supermarket. I keep my head down, eyes on the pavement, never looking at anyone directly. The shop has just opened, and I am almost alone. Without hesitation, I aim towards the lane with the alcohol and put four bottles of wine in the cart. I add a big coke zero, then stand there a little lost. I should eat something. But what? I don’t feel like anything. In the end, I chose natural yogurt and one plain full grain bread roll, although I know I probably won’t eat it. At the checkout, I put my stuff on the counter. The woman behind it looks at me with a pitiful smile, but doesn’t say anything. My product choosing doesn’t need any explanation. I am here almost every morning. I pay, stuff everything in my backpack and am already on my way home again. The short wals feels longer and my body heavier. The first slur of dawn shows at the horizon, the streets are full of people on their way to work. Finally in my apartment, I close the door not very gently and drop the bag on the floor next to my bed. My heart races due the stairs. I don’t even allow myself to think, before I open one of the bottles, take a few sips and flush it down with coke. Now I wait. I lay back and look at the white ceiling. The music hovers through the room, but I barely hear it. Slowly, my trembling and the nervousness get better as the alcohol starts working. Even a hint of motivation overcomes me, and I take the chance to get a broom and trash bag. I clean the dirt from the ground and throw my splattered clothes in the laundry. Damn it, I need to do laundry. It’s been piling up, but I don’t have a washing machine of my own, I need to go to the next town to do that, and I absolutely don’t feel like it. I still have enough to wear, but the old stuff starts to smell. Also, I need to change my sheets urgently. They are covered in wine spots. My energy has already left me again, so I just turn the blanket over. I will tend to that later, I lie to myself. Since I barely use the kitchen, at least that is clean, but there is still so much stuff that need to be done. Instead, I make myself comfortable in bed, the wine bottle next to me and power up the TV. Without even checking the rest of the program, I instantly skip to the only channel I actually watch besides Netflix and Amazon Video. It only shows documentaries and no advertisement. I have seen most of them at least once, but I like the voice of the commentator, it’s very calming. So I let myself relax to a report about ancient civilizations. My stomach keeps grumbling, I numb it with more liquid calories, and my anxiety about the future is numbed too.

After a while, I get up to smoke one. Except for one window, I keep my blinds down constantly. Although it’s around 9am now, the morning isn’t much brighter. Gray clouds in a gray sky. It starts raining while I exhale the smoke into the cold air. I feel okay. Not happy, not utterly depressed, but comfortably melancholic. I don’t know what’s gonna be tomorrow or in a week or a few months. I don’t care about it either. I only think about getting through today. My phone rings and I hesitate to pick up once I see the name of my counselor on the display. Damn, I forgot our appointment. I moan and take the call. Luckily it’s short, she only asks me how I am (I lie confidently, like always), she informs me about a meeting with a psychiatrist next week and a doctor’s appointment tomorrow to get a prescription for my meds. We didn’t even talk for two minutes, yet I am glad once she finally hangs up. My phone tells me, I got 5 new emails and 3 unread messages. I ignore them, don’t even open my inbox. Reminds me I haven’t checked my mail in days. Don’t care. Instead, I finish the first bottle. I feel warm and comfy in a sick way. My stomach grumbles again. In the end I get the yoghurt from the fridge, a spoon from the kitchen. After I put some liquid sweetener in it, I eat about half and put the rest back. I can eat it later (haha!). I don’t remember when I had a real meal the last time. But alcohol contains enough calories and no matter how much I drink, I’ve never gained weight because of it. Somehow I still care about the number on the scale, although I don’t take care of my body at all. I only destroy it. It’s a paradox. Noon passes by. I don’t even know what the documentaries were about, but it doesn’t matter. At half past 1, my alarm goes off, reminding me that my supervisor from assisted living will be here in half an hour. I totally forgot. I drink the last bit of the second bottle and hide it in my drawer. I collect the three empty ones that are still stashed under my bed. I check the room for any other dangerous indications about my current condition. Except for the usual chaos, everything suspicious is out of sight. I open the window because of the smell and start chewing gum, which I spit out the moment the bell rings. I can hear the steps on the stairs and greet the woman at the door. She’s around fifty and very kind, but not easily fooled. By now I have a very high tolerance, so despite the amount of wine, I am still talking clearly and don’t show any physical signs of drunkenness. In my room we both sit down, talk for a short while. She praises me for cleaning up a bit and taking a shower, she knows how hard these things are for me. I tell her the usual. That I feel a bit sick and depressed, don’t eat much and sleep crappy. None of it is a lie. I just leave out a few things. I stay polite, but try to get rid of her as quickly as possible. She seems to realize it and says that if I am not feeling well, she will leave me alone now. After she closes the door behind her, I feel drained by the short visit. I get back into bed and let the time pass by. Now and then I smoke one, drink more, watch the shadows crawl over the ground. I am fairly drunk when the night sets in and this normal day comes to an end only to repeat itself tomorrow. I don’t care.

[thedetectivesystem]

Cicada

Gen

Summary: After Near's unusual behavior, the SPK tries to understand him.

Notes: this is a one-shot that i made a while ago for bpd awareness i had just forgotten about it until now. we have bpd and i projected onto near of what bpd splits can be like for both the person and the others around you. please note that not every experience is the same.

Kudos and comments are appreciated !

Halle had no idea what to do the first time it happened. Her boss yelled and cried at her inside headquarters with hate. After gathering her thoughts and settling her anxiety, she could only express it in her head: it was like seeing a child delude himself with whatever false scenario his mind came up with. Gevanni and Rester were stunned, almost frightened, by the interaction.

Nears' face streamed with tears; the expression was one of both rage and fear. None of them had ever heard such a booming voice from the younger man; his voice cracked while he yelled and yelled. They all kept their physical distance from him as he went on.

"It was all your fault that he’s dead!" He accused, "He’s gone because you didn’t bother telling me what he was going to do, and you stupidly sent those men after my fucking friend!" His throat choked up a sob. "Can't you just leave too?" His employees were stunned as he yelled.

Halle stood there, nervous about losing her job because of Near's emotions and how he perceived the scenario, but also overwhelmed with sympathy for the tragic child in front of her.

"Just leave!" His voice cracked: "Do what everyone else did, and fucking leave me!"

Gevanni stood up from his chair and carefully approached Near. "Near, take a deep breath." He made sure to keep a good distance so as not to overwhelm the boy. "Breathe, breathe."

Near’s body began to shake, his throat choked out sobs, and he shook his head. A sign of his usual stubbornness, but his judgment was clouded by such physically painful emotions. His body leaned slightly onto Gevanni’s.

"Near, you’re spiraling; you need to breathe." Gevanni spoke gently: "Breathe in for four seconds, hold it for four seconds, and breathe out for the same amount of time."

Halle had no idea what she had done to elicit such a reaction from Near; he had already been moody for the day, even though all she had done was try to update him on their current case. She watched as Gevanni tried to calm himself. The man had told her that he was once a psychology student, so she knew he could figure out why Near had such an outburst.

When he fully ignored Halle's existence in front of him, Near followed Gevanni's words perfectly, and a feeling of exhaustion washed over him. Gevanni wanted to ask the boy what had triggered this reaction, but he knew he should let Near rest first.

"Do you want to go to bed?" Gevanni inquired.

Near nodded. All that had once been so strong had taken its toll on him, and all that remained was fatigue. He picked up a handful of his toys off the floor and made his own way to the elevator. Gevanni appeared hesitant to let Near go on his own, but he stayed because he knew that the boy needed his alone time.

As Near left for his room, the room fell silent. Halle hadn't realized she'd dropped her cup of coffee until she sighed and looked at the floor. She knelt and picked up the cup before placing it on her desk.

"What was that about?" Rester questioned them, breaking their silence.

"A split." Gevanni's gaze remained fixed on the elevator. "Or so I believe; I'm not exactly a professional."

"A split?" Halle repeated, curious as to what he had meant.

"Yeah, it’s a term for two different types of disorders; in Near’s case, I think he should see someone for BPD," Gevanni explained. "He was displaying signs of age regression too."

Halle has heard of the word before; after all, given her line of work, it is necessary to be more than just aware of mental problems. As Gevanni talked more, she went over to the closet to get cleaning tools to clean up her coffee.

"I’m having trouble following." Rester sighed.

"BPD is a trauma disorder, and to be honest, it's not easy losing everyone you love in a murder case you were assigned to do when you were 13 years old." Gevanni sounded frustrated, although he was taking a deep breath. "All I'm saying is that it's clear that Near isn't mentally well as a result of his trauma. I'm not sure if he'll listen and find a therapist, but I'll do what I can."

"Alright," Rester said quietly. "But why did he snap at Halle?"

"She might have triggered a split by saying or doing something that he didn’t like." Gevanni shrugged. "Who knows? I’ll try asking him once he’s rested and had time to himself."

Halle finished cleaning up her mess and thoughtfully nibbled the inside of her cheek. She was aware of how horrible everything was during the Kira case, and she couldn't imagine how Near must've felt after losing so many people he cared about, people he considered his family. She had also lost a family member due to Kira, but it had never led her to feel this way, despite the fact that she was still mourning their deaths. Near simply had little to no reaction to the murders of Mello, L, and Matt. So she didn't think about it or what he must have been doing in private. She reflected extensively on Near's past, his childhood, and how he was groomed and placed in a competitive environment. When Near described his background and environment to them, all she could think of was how cult-like the institution was.

She felt selfish in certain ways, despite the fact that this was a work setting; however, this work setting was not common. The SPK watched Near grow up, and they all grew closer like family. She watched Near develop into the man he is today—a miserable man who has everything locked up. It wasn’t her responsibility to take care of him, but she viewed him as a son, and if anything became too much and something bad happened, she didn’t think that she could live with herself.

"Would it be best if I talked to him as well?" She asked.

"Yeah, once he’s able to be around you again, it’s important to help him process this and what he’s feeling," Gevanni explained as he went to sit back down at his desk.

"Okay." She nodded.

Near isn't unfamiliar with the concept of emotions or talking about them. He's done it before, but it's a rare occurrence. Halle wonders if Near feels it disturbs people to do so or if it's just a dread of letting others get close. Actually, it might be a lot of things. She stared at her computer, pondering what to say once Near felt better; all she could do at this point was understand what he was going through and put her research into it.

[crazylil-lion]

I see a majority of the posts about bpd aren't for the people who have bpd. They are an extremely toxic post of someone mad at an ex.

They demonize us while pushing all the blame on the disorder.

I start crying asking why they are going to leave me.

They start getting mad and screaming at me. Why do you always do this. Why do you always try to fight.

Then I blow up because all I was asking is if they were going to leave me. To be invalidated.

To have my emotions ignored.

Im fucking sorry I split.

I'm fucking sorry my emotions are a fucking Rollercoaster and idk what I'll feel next. I just know how you treat me makes the entire difference. Regardless if I want it or not.

You think I want to be so impulsive in an episode I say the worst possible thing to cut deep because they hurt me. Fuck sometimes I don't even realize it bc after you invalidate my feelings enough I start to get defensive and say some awful hurtful things back.

Bc if you invalidate me, it's pouring gas on the fire.

Or get so impulsive I self harm, or spend a crazy amount. Or do somethinh stupid dangerous.

Or leave people before they leave us.

Or start to pull away and get distant almost as a test to see if you realize and try to pull us in.

I promise we don't want to feel these things.

We don't want our mood to depend on the tone of voice you use. If you are making eye contact. If you sighed too long. If you seemed bored.

I don't want that to decide if I'm worthy of your love.

BUT THIS IS HOW MY MIND WORKS.

Those emotions aren't me trying to manipulate you or gaslight you.

My emotions are my emotions

If I tell you hey this thing upset me. You may not understand why it upset me.

BUT THAT DOESN'T MAKE MY FEELING NOT EXIST. that doesn't mean its fake.

I don't want to feel abandoned by the slightest thing. But I do. Because I feel emotions so strong. Its all I feel. So I'm sorry that to you it doesn't make sense why I'm so upset by being left on read because you forgot to respond.

To me its what I feel even if I logically know. Hey this person is busy. I still need the reassurance.

I'm sorry my symptoms aren't just magical all better.

You will have to be around my episodes. You will have to try to understand and HEAR me.

I'm sorry some of the symptoms from bpd may be hard to deal with.

But 2 things.

First. That doesn't give the shitty people an excuse to manipulate people with bpd because its very easy to do so.

It doesn't mean you can blame all of the issues on your partner because they have bpd.

If someone shares a trigger with you and you then use that trigger as a weapon. You are the shit person. Its not all my fault if you continue to twist the knife after I begged you to take it out. Its not my fault when I blow up after you continue to press on the wound I told you to avoid.

I think people don't try to understand our perspective because they don't know what its like to have an emotional response to something you logically know you shouldn't.

When they don't know how strong the emotion is. And how it feels like it takes over and its all you know. All youve ever felt. All that is.

Its exhausting, and if we could, I promise we would "just get over it" like you wish we would.

[hareharrison]

hold me

pairing: george harrison x reader

summary: george is in the process of finishing abbey road, and has been repeatedly coming home frustrated. instead of talking to you about it, he distances himself completely, and only speaks to you in annoyance or anger, and lashes out on you. he doesn’t know how much it affects you and one day comes home to the effects firsthand.

warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, angy geo, neurodivergent reader, invasive thoughts, mental breakdown/panic attack, but it works out in the end

a/n: hayyyy ok so i wrote this as a comfort fic for myself, and i decided to post it cause why not. i struggle with intense fear of abandonment cause of bpd haha fun 😐and wanted to make it from the POV of a neurodivergent reader?? so this is like a comfort fic for ND readers?? idk if i need to put any other potential trigger warnings for this but if i do please lmk and i will fix it

year: 1969

the flat was quiet without him. to be honest, it was quiet with or without him, lately. as much as you didn’t want to admit it, george had been distant. he was always a quiet person, but he has never dismissed you this much. you knew that his job could be tiring and you tried not to overthink it, but you couldn’t help but feel bad. a voice in your head was planting horrible ideas, saying things like, “you fucked up, he doesn’t like you anymore, you’re annoying.” but still, you pushed on and tried your best to ignore the noise in your brain.

you sigh heavily and slide back into the couch. you had the next two days off of work, and nothing to do. george of course had to work on your days off, which left you alone at home. with your thoughts. it was hard getting through today, your intrusive thoughts were particularly loud... but he would be home any minute now, which brought on a bit of hope; seeing him should rid you of your own jailhoused mind.

the tv played some sitcom in front of you, which you had no interest in. all you could think about was if you ruined things. what if he was thinking of leaving you? it would be your fault... and yet you couldn’t think of a single thing you’ve ever done that might have hurt him.

the door opened gently and let in a cool draft that brushed against your warm skin. you look toward the entrance, seeing your george sigh heavily with exhaustion as he took his shoes and coat off. he looked up to you, his boldly furrowed brows softening.

“hi, love,” he says, walking toward you. you stand and approach him to greet him with a quick kiss. he holds you for a little longer than usual, and you take the opportunity to melt into his arms and breathe in his smell, something you’d been deprived of recently. he rests his chin on top of your head, which laid comfortably on his rising chest. it was moments like this that made all your worries slip away, moments like this that you wished you could cling onto forever and ever.

“how was your day?” you ask, finally leaning back to look up at him. he lets go of you and runs a hand through his long hair.

“not good,” he says, a frown on his perfectly sculpted face. you return his expression at the sight of him being sad. quickly, you remember your dinner ideas. maybe that would cheer him up.

“hey, maybe we can go get something to eat? maybe get your mind off of things?” you suggest, looking up at his brown eyes. he looks down at you, eyes full of regret.

“i’m sorry love, but i’d rather just head to bed already,” he says remorsefully. you smile softly and reassure him that it’s okay and he should get some rest. but part of you breaks inside, knowing he doesn’t want to spend time with you.

he headed upstairs and you followed, the painful ideas returning at full speed.

“you’re so annoying, of course he doesn’t want to spend any time with you. you’re so annoying and clingy,” your brain says and you flinch at the harsh thoughts. through your entire bedtime routine, thoughts flooded your mind and filled your entire being up, and you felt like you were being drowned from the inside out. george stood next to you as you both brushed your teeth, not speaking a single word to you or giving you a single glance. you changed into one of george’s t-shirts and watched as he slid out of his clothes and into his pajamas in seconds. he muttered a monotone, “good night,” before turning on his side, his back facting you.

as much as you didn’t want to, you believed the mean voices and hung your head as you got into bed next to george.

you slept back to back that night.

————————————————————

the sun seeped into your room through your windows, and invaded your bed, waking you rather unpleasantly. you groan lightly as you reached over your bed for george, but only found empty space. his side of the bed was cold, indicating that he’d been up for a while now.

you sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes as the aromas of freshly brewed coffee and morning dew hit your senses. you hear the song of the early birds chirping as your feet hit the cool floor. as you head downstairs, you can hear george on the phone, and you soon see him muttering softly before taking a long drag from his cigarette. you don’t bother him, seeing that there was paperwork on the table and his call must be business related. naturally, you decide to head for the coffee, the smell luring you in like a fish.

you poured the hot, dark liquid into your favorite mug and add in your preferred amounts of cream and sugar. looking out the window, you see water drip gently from the leaves of a tree that george and you had planted a year ago. you sip your coffee and reminisce about the times you used to actually spend time with george. how nice it was, seeing him smile so often.

you suddenly hear george raise his voice at the phone, something unlike him entirely. you jump at the unpleasant sound before peeking through the hallway to see what on earth was happening.

“no, i don’t care! i want the bloody bastard fired, in fact, tell him not to bother showing up today,” he shouts into the phone before slamming it down, placing his head between his knees and groaning in frustration. seeing george this upset and acting out on it was truly a rare sighting, and you thought carefully about what to next.

after careful consideration, you tiptoe into the room and gently rest a hand on his shoulder, the sudden contact making him flinch.

“christ, (y/n) are you trying to give me a bloody heart attack?” he grumbles before lighting another cigarette.

“sorry,” you say softly, “would you like some tea?” you figure it could calm his anger and soothe some of his abnormal irritability.

“what? tea? there’s already coffee made,” he says rudely. you take a step back, saying nothing. you know that you didn’t do anything and that this behavior would pass. george was never like this. your eyes find the time and see that george should have left ten minutes ago.

“george, you’re gonna be late to work,” you say, thinking you could at least do something helpful. his head snaps back at you and his once soft face turned hard with anger.

“what are you implying? you want me gone?” he stands up and angrily grabs all of the papers scattered on the table, shoving them into a folder and the folder into his bag, “fine, i’ll leave. im out the door.”

you look at him in confusion, you’d barely woken up and were just trying to help, “what’s the matter with you?”

“what’s the matter with me,” he repeats, looking away and scoffing. he runs his hand through his hair in frustration, “im sick of this, (y/n)! im sick of life. i come home exhausted and you have half a mind to ask me if i want to talk about it!”

“you always want to go straight to bed,” you defend yourself, hurt that he would even suggest that you don’t care about him. his dark eyes glare into your own for a moment that feels like hours, trying to think of somethig clever to say in response, but he just wasn’t ever much of a fighter. he finally chooses to put his cigarette out on the table’s ashtray and grab his coat. if you wanted him out of the house, he was more than happy to comply.

“george-“ you start.

“no,” he cuts you off, “don’t say anything right now, i can’t even look at you.” and he doesn’t, he ignores your presence entirely as he picks up his bag and walks out the door.

you’re left in the cold house, alone, hurt, and dumbfounded. you couldn’t believe what had just happened. you couldn’t believe that george, your george, had taken his anger out on you, simply for trying to help his morning be less shitty. worse than that, he thought you wanted him gone, when all you wanted was to be with him. is this how it was going to be now? a bitter, loveless relationship? your eyes sting with fresh tears at the thought, and a huge lump in your throat grows painfully. you take a deep breath before heading upstairs. you wanted anything but to cry this early in the morning, and the only reason you got up somewhat early was to see george before he left to work. now that your morning was ruined, you figured heading back to bed was the next best thing.

you climb back into your shared bed, suppressing your emotions with the warmth of your fluffy blankets and soft pillows. the comfort of a bed felt almost like a hug, and you sighed, letting the pain drift away as you fell asleep.

————————————————————

when you opened your eyes, the realization hit you. you’d slept until the sun began to set, completely ignoring your emotions, stuffing them down inside of you like an overflowing trash can. being awake made them fling right back at you; sleeping didn’t change a thing, and was only a temporary pause in your pain.

all of your feelings came back to you at once, and it once again felt like you were drowning internally. only this time, the thoughts weren’t the invasive factor. your emotions were overwhelmingly intense on top of your brain practically screaming horrible things to you. your breathing quickens as you feel tears slide down your face. this time you werent able to swallow the thick lump in your throat, and you began to weep softly.

this was it, george was leaving you. he hates you, he wants nothing to do with you. there was nothing you could do but hug your knees and cry. you choked on a sob and started rocking back and forth in attempts to try to soothe yourself. but you couldn’t stop, it felt like your entire world was falling apart. you soon began to have shortness of breath and struggled with your breathing, feeling your heart beat at an intense rate that you couldn’t control.

your bedroom door opens, revealing george’s early arrival. he immediately rushes to your side, afraid to touch you but wanting so bad to comfort you.

“(y/n)? (y/n), breathe. breathe, baby,” he takes your hand and you look at him. you aren’t sure if him being here is making the situation better or worse. seeing him try to help you stirred all kinds of feelings in your mind. you felt like you weren’t good enough for him, like you didn’t deserve his help.

george begins breathing in through his nose and out of his mouth, gently guiding you and hoping you will try to do the same. he sits in front of you on the bed and holds your face in his gentle hands. you look up into his eyes, the chocolate features of his face soothing you as your breath began to steady.

“that’s it,” he encourages.

“do you hate me?” you cry softly.

“what? no, (y/n), i’d give my life for yours, do you know that? you’re so, very special to me,” he slides over to sit beside you on the bed and wraps his long arms around you.

“why are you so distant?” you look up at him, and tears continue to roll down your flushed cheeks, “you acted so mean to me this morning, i feel like you want nothing to do with me.”

george is hurt by your words. he truly didn’t mean to be distant, and he never wanted to hurt you.

“i’m sorry,” he says, “ive been so overwhelmed i haven’t stopped to think of how you must feel. im really sorry my love i never meant to hurt you like this.” he embraces you tightly and you give into his comforting touch, wrapping your arms around his torso and digging your face into his chest. 

you take a deep breath, “i understand,” you say before looking up to him to whisper, “i miss you. i miss us.”

“i miss you too darling,” he pauses for a moment, “how about i take tomorrow off? we can do whatever you’d like.”

you sniffle, “what about the album? the deadline?” 

“i can fake sick. nothing is more important to me than you,” he says, “i want nothing more than to be with you. i love you so much.”

you smile when he presses a soft kiss to your aching head, “now how about we go have something to eat? i’m starved.”

[emmettdixonownsmyheart]

With You I Feel Safe

Im so proud of this fic so please be nice. I worked really freaking hard and I tried new transition techniques 😭 so comment and be nice please and thank you so I don’t get writers block again. My ao3 is tremmett_endgame and yea...I’m a angsty writer so I won’t be posting all my fics on tumblr. So just give the tremmett tag and look to find my works 🤍

Travis watches Emmett from his chair. He’s sleeping and his body is turned toward Travis. The firefighter looks up at the bright room, it bothers his eyes and he fights exhaustion. Emmetts vitals are stable just as they had been 5 minutes prior.

He listens to the steady sound of Emmetts heart and tilts his head. His boyfriend was absolutely beautiful even in his uncomfortable sleep. His long lashes squeezed tightly cast a small shadow on his cheekbones. His pink lips are slightly separating and if he looked closely could see the pressure of air leaving his mouth in time with the machines.

Beep...Beep...Beep...Beep

Travis just wanted Emmett to wake up from his nap so he could be taken home. It’s no secret that Travis hated hospitals but this was just awful. He had hoped he’d never have to get a call that his boyfriend was in the hospital and that fact that he was harmed by another person made it worse.

Gutted with a knife by a woman with BPD that was having a psychological breakdown. Of course Emmett being the sweetheart he is thought it would be smart to try and console the woman not aware that she had a very sharp very large blade on her at the time.

So here they were, Emmett sleeping somewhat peacefully in a hospital bed after undergoing major surgery to stop internal bleeding. He frowned and played with his knuckles before looking up and admiring his boyfriend..again.

This time to calm his panic he tried to count the freckles that were scattered across his face.

One

Two

Three

What he wouldn’t give to have Emmett home with him wrapped in soft blankets so that Travis could count all his freckles. His favorite being the ones of his back. Travis doesn't hold grudges but if he ever meets the woman who did this to his boy he’ll have some colorful words for her to hear. The chair he’s in is uncomfortable and he’s lost count of Emmetts freckles so he sighs, pulls the chair closer to the blond's bed until he can comfortably touch his face from the seat.

Reaching out to touch his boyfriend for some reason feels impossible. He’s scared that the slightest touch of his fingers will hurt Emmett. Travis knows it’s a silly thought but it’s one he has. A lump forms in his throat at the thought of the pain Emmett has been in not even 24 hours ago. Travis hadn’t even been on scene when. An incident happened. He only heard of it when Vic called him over an hour after Emmett had been hospitalized.

This was fucking scary he rationalized with himself. The last time he had been in this hospital Dean had died. He took a deep breath trying to calm himself before he lost control.

“Trav?” Their eyes connected immediately Emmetts blue ones slightly dilated from the morphine but still just as beautiful. Travis tried to form words but he couldn't. So instead he just stares at Emmett with tears in his eyes, the exhaustion from the past 24 hours finally catching up with him. He looks away as tears begin to form in his eyes and is embarrassed when he can’t prevent them from rolling down his cheeks.

“Babe?...Hey..Travis...Look at me.” The brunette really doesn’t want to but the ache in his chest and the need to watch the rise and falls of Emmetts chest overpower the urge to curl up in a ball and disappear. His eyes scan the IV in Emmetts arm.

“That looks so uncomfortable.” Travis states and it feels like he’s talking to himself until Emmett chuckles.

“They picked my brachial artery with a 21 gauge but I wish the nurse did my hand with a 23.” Travis begins to relax at the sound of his boyfriend's voice but loses himself in the idea that Emmett was uncomfortable. Those same stupid tears filling his eyes again he looks away.

“Babe...I’m okay...we’re fine…” He can’t help but let out a loud sob because he’s fucking scared. Red hot tears run down his face and the stupid beeping of Emmetts stupid heart moniter won’t stop and on top of that his boyfriend litterly got gutted with a knife. That’s horror movie shit…his throat begins to close up with anxiety.

“That had to have hurt him so bad” He thinks to himself and because Emmett is an angel he responds. His words soothing Travis and the tears that are still dripping down his face.

“It did hurt, it hurt really bad and still kinda stings...But they have me on a lot of pain meds so I’m not in any real pain... I wasn’t scared and It’s not going to change me in some big way…The woman was struggling and I should have approached her with medication not words.” Travis nods silently, taking in his boyfriend's words he reaches forward and grasps Emmetts hand.

“You scared the shit out of me.” It’s not a threat and it’s not anger that turns the tone icy. Emmetts can tell it’s fear and he nods, taking the grasped hand and bringing it to his lips. He kisses Travis’s hand softly before mumbling.

“I know...I’m sorry.” The firefighter sighs before running a gentle hand through Emmett's hair and then stroking his cheek he folds himself over so that he can kiss Emmett deeply. His lips are still pillow soft and breathing normal and even. Travis smiles with teeth at the feeling and that makes Emmett smile.

They stare at each other for a moment, taking in the reality of everything being okay.

“God...I love you.” Emmett nods his eyes beginning to droop in exhaustion and gives a breathy response.

“Love you most.” Travis doesn't have time to respond before Emmetts falls asleep, his hand still cradling the blondes cheek. Travis takes one last look at Emmetts vitals before pulling his Chair even closer and resting his head on Emmetts bed and joining him in his sleep.

[littleoddwriter]

Help | Dan Torrance x Gender Neutral!Reader

This is another vent fic. This time about a BPD episode. I was on the verge of having one so much these past weeks and especially today and yesterday, so that I decided to write a vent piece and share it, once again. I’m aware that only a few people will be able to relate to this, if at all, but hey. Self-indulgence. I really wish I had a Dan Torrance or Roman Sionis IRL for myself, lol.

summary; You experience a BPD episode, Dan comes to the rescue and helps you through the rest of it.

notes; TW // self-harm (scratching, hair pulling and punching oneself), dissociation, BPD episode, intrusive thoughts (mentioned), flashbacks (mentioned), recovering alcoholic almost having a relapse (mentioned), that should be all. Also: Gender Neutral!Reader (no gendered terms are used for reader, so this can be enjoyed by anyone!); Emotional Hurt/Comfort; 

You were sitting on the couch, watching one of your comfort movies. Dan was out, attending his regular AA meetings. You wished he was here, though deep down you were glad he wasn't.

Why you were watching this comfort movie was because you thought it would help making you feel better, distract you, make you less difficult to be around, when Dan came back.

It had worked for maybe half an hour, then you became restless; the intrusive thoughts came back full force. The flashbacks, too. It was all too much. You wanted to scream.

'Shutupshutupshutup!' You chanted in your head.

You wanted it all gone.

You wanted to stop hurting.

You wanted it to fucking stop!

The feelings were too much, you felt suffocated by them, unable to breathe properly. It made you panic. Your breathing quickened, you bounced your leg so fast that your entire body was shaking with it. You were rocking back and forth, trying to feel it all a little less and have it leave your body.

Whatever was happening on screen, you didn't catch any of it. You saw it, but you couldn't hear it. You didn't process it at all.

More flashbacks.

More emotional pain.

More intrusive thoughts of how to relieve yourself of this anguish.

Somewhere, besides all of this, you felt floaty. Unreal. Everything around you felt so unreal. Were you even real?

A whine tore its way from your throat.

You started scratching your forearm.

You didn't even notice it until suddenly your skin had broken, was scratched open and burning.

Immediately, you stopped.

Though, you wanted to continue until it was all gone.

You tried to resist.

That wasn't what you really wanted. It was an intrusive thought, not you.

You didn't know how much time had passed. It must have been a while, though, as you vaguely noticed that the movie had almost reached its end.

Taking deep breaths, you tried to calm yourself.

Dan would be back soon. You didn't want him to see you like this. You didn't want to be a burden to him.

The pain, the guilt, the flashbacks, everything; it came back to you with an almost violent force and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will it all down. Push it away. Repress it.

It usually worked. Why wouldn't it work, now?

You punched your thigh.

The pain made everything stop for a moment.

You did it again.

Again.

Again.

And again.

Until you couldn't move for several minutes because of the pain that your brain was trying so hard to process.

A few moments passed.

It all came back, all over again. Even stronger, perhaps.

You wanted to scream.

You gripped your hair, pulling at it repeatedly until your scalp burned.

You rubbed over your face.

Rubbing turned into scratching.

Suddenly, there were arms around you, a body pressing against you, a warmth enveloping you.

Dan.

You startled to a stop.

"Sssh, it's okay. It's okay," you could faintly hear Dan shushing you.

You lowered your hands from your face and wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder.

A cry forced its way out of you as you started weeping, soaking his jacket in your salty tears that burned your eyes, oh so painfully.

He was rubbing your back soothingly, continuing to shush you quietly, rocking you back and forth gently.

Distantly, you noticed that he was bent over to accommodate your sitting position and that it must be hell on his back.

So, you tried to shift.

Neither of you let go of the other, as you both came to sit on the couch, either torso twisted to keep the other wrapped up.

Dan's head was resting against the side of your head, whispering to you and nuzzling your hair.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," you repeated, whimpering, over and over again in between sobs. "I didn't mean to. Didn't mean to!"

"Sssh, darling, it's alright, it's okay," Dan replied soothingly.

After a few long moments, your sobs turned into silent tears. You were trembling. Your breaths were erratic.

Reluctantly, you let go of Dan. He also released you, leaning back a little, but keeping one hand on your back and continuing to rub soothing circles into it with just the right amount of pressure to be felt but not be too much.

You could feel him looking at you, even though your head was lowered and you were looking at your lap. Biting the inside of your cheek and your bottom lip repeatedly, you tried to push down the tears that still threatened to spill.

  "Do you want to talk about it?" Dan asked gently after a couple of minutes.

You shook your head, not looking up.

You were wringing your hands, twisting your fingers, cracking your knuckles, trying to get rid of the guilt, the shame, the dread.

"Okay. Can I do anything for you?" He asked after a few more moments.

You thought about it. But you came up empty-handed.

"I don't know, sorry," you whispered brokenly.

Dan nodded and wrapped the arm, of which his hand was on your back, around you, squeezing your arm lightly.

You leaned into his side, resting your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes.

  After a couple of minutes, you lifted a trembling hand and grasped onto his shirt, balling a fist, holding on tight.

"I didn't mean for you to come home to me like this. I'm sorry," you rasped eventually.

"Y/N, it's okay. I promise. I wish I had been here earlier, though," he replied, kissing your hair.

You nuzzled his neck, kissing the little patch of skin you could reach.

"Thank you, Dan," you whispered.

He squeezed you in answer.

You were so exhausted then. Drained. It was already late anyway. Usually you wouldn't even have stayed up so late, but you had established a habit of waiting for Dan, whenever he went to his AA meetings.

You never knew when he would come home feeling raw and on the verge of a breakdown.

You never wanted to wake up again, in the middle of the night, to him screaming and smashing a bottle of liquor he had managed to resist just so.

He rested his chin on your head, when you cuddled into him a little bit more.

"Let's go to sleep then, hm? Do you think you can do that?" Dan asked.

You just nodded, peeling yourself from his side, immediately missing his warmth and soothing touch.

The two of you got up and got yourselves ready for bed in a comfortable silence.

You still felt raw and vulnerable, but at least you didn't feel like you were being suffocated anymore.

Dan tended to the wounds on your forearms, when you were both done with everything else. Fortunately, those wounds were the only open ones. Your face was streaked with red lines, but nothing was bloodied or open. Your thighs might bruise, though. Your scalp still burned a little, too.

Eventually, the two of you crawled under the covers of your bed, cuddling into each other. Your head laid on Dan's chest, rising and falling with his breaths; hearing his heart beat. It calmed you.

You're okay, y/n. I've got you. You can go to sleep. You're alright, I promise.

You could hear his voice in your head. He rarely did that. He didn't like using his shine on you; it felt like a violation to your privacy, he had told you.

A small smile stretched your lips.

You closed your eyes, sighing, and made yourself comfortable, nuzzling into his chest and kissing it through his soft cotton shirt.

After a couple of minutes - and most likely with the help of his shine - you fell asleep eventually, finally at peace and leaving this horrendous night behind yourself for the time being.

[rottenbutrecovering]

Hello, I've been questioning whether or not I have BPD I've had unstable relationships for awhile now due to going from hating someone to loving them or becoming very attached to them like a Favorite person not only that but my emotions and mood tend to switch in one whole day and are intense I avoid people and this thing where I want them to leave me alone but not leave me alone so I isolate a lot. I was wondering what your experience is with BPD so I can get a better understanding of it.

I ofc cannot diagnose you, but what you’ve described are in line with how people experience BPD! 

What I’ll do is go through the diagnostic criteria (I’ll use the DSM-4 as it’s lead out more clearly, but here’s the DSM-5 criteria) and talk about how I experience each symptom. (Note: you need at least 5 of these symptoms)

(1) frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment.

For me, this typically involves begging a person to stay, lowering my standards and tolerating some real bullshit from people just so they stay, and being on constant lookout for any possible signs of being abandonment. These signs (which 99% of the time are meaningless but at the time feel very very real) can be as small as a sigh, or one less ! on a message

(2) a pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation

This is where splitting comes in. For me, I can see a person (mostly with me they are FPs or my partner) as perfect, flawless. Then they do something, often tiny, and my perception just flips and I just... hate them. It really sucks, because I often can tell I’m being irrational but I just get so filled with hate. And this can be as tiny as someone saying they don’t like a show I like. Luckily, with time and therapy, I’m now able to just take a step back when this happens and tell the person I need some time away from them, so I can avoid treating them badly.

I also very much experience this symptom towards myself - sometimes I adore myself (i’m gorgeous, smart), and sometimes I hate myself (i’m disgusting, worthless).

(3) identity disturbance: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self

Including what I said above, for me I just simply do not know what I’m like as a person. My aesthetic changes constantly, as do my goals. If you asked me how to describe myself, I simply wouldn’t know how. I force myself to do certain things simply because I think that’s what I would do, but honestly I’m not sure.

I typically pick an interest and obsess and invest in it deeply and define myself by it, and these change pretty often too.

(4) impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging

 This is a symptom I personally don’t think I show. My GAD prevents me from doing basically anything impulsive. 

(5) recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self-mutilating behavior

I get suicidal thoughts, and behave on those, often. It’s tiring. I also have self harmed in the past, but I’m proud to say I haven't for a while! 

(6) affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (e.g., intense episodic dysphoria, irritability, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days)

Mood swings are so TIRING. The smallest thing can swing my mood dramatically, every day, and it is exhausting. I can go from happy, to depressed, to excited, to anxious, to angry - all so easily and quickly. I am extremely sensitive.

(7) chronic feelings of emptiness

It’s hard to describe emptiness any clearer than just calling it feeling empty. It’s just... nothing. A go through periods where I don’t experience emotions and just feel blank. I often show surface level emotions during this time, but I don’t properly feel them.

(8) inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger 

I get angry/pissed off very easily, however it is not as extreme as many other with BPD have. It mostly results in snide comments and passive aggression. I’m bad at expressing my anger as due to my fear of abandonment and past abuse, I’m worried I will be left or punished for it. I typical turn that anger inwards towards myself, directing it towards self-blame and hatred.

The anger I feel is so deep rooted, it’s hard to explain. It takes over my whole body and it’s so, so intense.

(9) transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms

The former part of this - paranoid ideation - is difficult as I have other disorders that make me super paranoid all the time. My paranoia does get worse during stress though.

I dissociate during times of extreme stress. I feel completely disconnected from my body, it takes me a lot longer to process stuff, and I feel numb. It’s hard to see myself in my own body during this.

I hope this helps you Nonnie! Although remember that this is just my personal experience with BPD - yours may be very different! 

[watercolourferns]

AsraxMCFanfic for those who suffer from intrusive thoughts and paranoid delusions.

I’m turbo paranoid right now, I’m also on the verge of tears and my intrusive thoughts are out of control. This happens when I get extra stressed out, which I’ve been almost everyday for the last week... So I thought maybe I could write some fluff of an Mc going through the same things. This Mc’s name is Malakie, and he’s Asra’s LI in his route. Malakie’s name sounds kinda badass but he’s really just a tiny ball of anxiety, suffers from BPD, OCD, PTSD, and EDNOS, and his thoughts can get pretty intrusive. He’s my mental illnesses and the struggle I have to go through because of them. I still haven’t drawn him, but I will soon, I promise. He’s nonbinary, going by he/him, he’s 20, Portia-short, and strong-willed but not stubborn, he just doesn’t stop fighting.  So here it is, the fanfic. You can exchange Malakies’ name for your Mc’s if you want. Intruders in the mind. AsraxMalakie(Mc)|hurtcomfort|trigger warnings: descriptions of paranoid delusions, intrusive thoughts, eating disorders, and OCD.

Malakie woke up with a small start and sat up violently on the bed, hugging the bed sheet to his chest. His breathing was ridiculously fast and it was making him dizzy, but he couldn’t stop; he was cold sweating and his limbs felt tingly, as if they were going numb, which only made him panic more. Suddenly he got the urge to get up and check every window and door, see if they were locked tight against the deep night reigning outside. He was well aware nobody would dare enter the shop unannounced, except maybe Jules, but it had been months since his last visit... probably because of Zayn and his strict rule of being home at 11 tops... Malakie’s lips broke into a small smile, giving him a bit of a breather amidst the panic that was overriding his brain. But then the fear flooded him again and he sighed, sliding his feet down from the mattress, yet before he could touch the cold tile floor an arm wrapped around his waist and gently pulled him back to bed, making him lay down again. This time he did shout, but then an airy voice whispered in the dark: “It’s ok, Mal, it’s ok. It’s just me...” Malakie gasped and shook his head, horrified. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up! I-I just...” he started in a squeaky voice, feeling overwhelmingly guilty.  “-were having a nightmare... I said it’s ok, Mal,” Asra whispered, gently pushing a few strands of purple hair from Malakie’s yellow eyes and behind his ears. “I don’t mind if you wake me up, I promise, love. Here, let’s hug and go back to sleep, ok?” The young man looked at Asra, at his violet eyes, and his fluffy white hair and his heart leaped, wanting nothing but to melt into his arms, feeling safe again. But he couldn’t. He didn’t like being touched when he was feeling like this, he would shy away from Asra whenever the paranoia hit. He felt like a monster for it, but he just couldn’t bare being touched. Shaking his head sheepishly he sat up again and scooted away from the white haired magician. Then he swung his feet down and placed them cautiously on the tiled floor... what if something grabbed him from under the bed?? The purple haired youngster shuddered and almost pulled his feet back up, but then he tried to take control back and forced himself to stand up fully. It was awful, all these thoughts swirling through his head, intermingled with memories and ideas... He just couldn’t stop for a second, could he? How stupi- No! He took his head in his hands and shook it violently, gritting his teeth. Alright, everything will be alright. Now walk to the window behind the bed and check it... One... two... three... four... Ok, the lock is secure... Now walk to the door and check if it’s locked, as you left it- wait, what was that?! Malakie froze midway to the door, seeing something move out of the corner of his eye, but when ventured a look he saw it was only Faust, slithering on the bed towards him, looking worried. “Sad?” she said. Malakie smiled and caressed her sweetly, shaking his head. “Scared...” he whispered. Then motioned for her to stay there and walked to the door. As these things were happening Asra had sat up on the bed and was looking at the youngster move about as if he was alone in the room, a sad frown on his full lips. It hurt him see his beloved like this, and not able to do much due to Malakie’s rejection of his touch or nearness. He had tried to find a potion, a spell, even spoke to Julian about it, but there was simply nothing more that he could save for all else he already did. He asked Julian for strong relaxing tinctures and made some of his own, he found the best Jasmine and Passionflower teas with which to sooth Mal’s mind and body at least for a bit; he would wake up a soon as Mal did and was always paying him attention, trying to curve an anxiety or panic attack before it went full blown... Sometimes it was hard on him and his own nerves, but he would always think about how much worse it was for Malakie, both because his mind betrayed him whenever it could but also because he knew the youngster felt guilty because he thought he was a burden... He wanted nothing more than to reach into his brain and somehow extract all those mean and scary thoughts from his head. But since that was impossible, he resolved to just be there for him and support him as much as he could. As Malakie finished with the room’s door, opened it, and cautiously walked out, Asra stood up from the bed and followed with the lamp, reassuring Faust that everything was fine and that she should go back to sleep. He caught up to Malakie and offered the lamp. “I can accompany you, so you’re not alone. I know you want to check every lock and it’s alright. Just... let me be with you,” Asra said softly, reaching to caress the purple tresses again, but stopping mid motion and just letting his arm fall back gently to his side. “Hm? Oh... a-alright...” said Malakie, his eyes darting a bit, looking like a deer’s scared eyes when it spots a hunter. “Thank you...” he added sheepishly, taking the lamp and offering a weird smile, half here, half somewhere else in the realm his thoughts went to. Asra knew that smile very well: the poor kid was dissociated, and no wonder... It always happened when he had a nightmare. Asra smiled reassuringly back and motioned so he could lead the way. Malakie started to walk to the window of the landing, checked it four times again. But the wood looked old... what if-? The purpled haired apprentice shook his head, rubbed his yellow eyes with one hand and continued walking. Twenty minutes later most of the locks were checked, and by then Malakie was exhausted, but his mind was pushing him to do more, to check again, to go to the front door, open, close it, open, close it, check the lock, open, close it, check the lock... He reached the bottom floor and Asra grabbed a small bundle of dried leaves and flowers from a small drawer in the cabinet.  “I’ll go to the kitchen, alright? I’m just there, shout if you need me, I promise to come right away,” he said, smiling again. “S-Sure...” Malakie answered absent mindedly, trying to to focus his gaze on a shadow, trying to figure out what it was, turning out it was the pestle he had left on the counter earlier.  Asra padded barefooted towards the kitchen when he heard a crash and someone sobbing. He flew back towards the front of the shop and found Malakie has fallen over a misplaced stool in his haste to go to the front door and had landed on the stone floor, the lamp out and shattered in front of him. He had knelt next to the fragments and started to cry into his hand, obviously trying to muffle it. “No! Don’t touch me!! I’m covered in oil!” he sobbed, terrified, trying to scoot away from Asra as well, going almost into the glass shards. Asra quickly took him in his arms, ignoring the protests, to prevent him from getting more hurt. Taking Malakie to the back of the store, he sat the kid on a stool and checked him over, finding a small scrape on his knee and on his palm, but thankfully nothing more. “Stay here,” he said sternly and went for a rag and water. Malakie nodded, still sobbing, but not really feeling himself sob. He was out of it, feeling as if walking through foggy cotton, unable to see clearly. When Asra came back and knelt in front of him, he finally extended his hand and grabbed his hair gently. The white-haired young man stood still, but smiled up  at Malakie, nodding. “Yes, I’m real... and so are you...” he said, placing the wet rag gently on his knee. The yellow eyes whinced and the pale lips let out a soft hiss of pain. “See? You’re real, you’re here, we’re at the shop. Can you see it?” Asra asked, cleaning the kid up and bandaging him with fresh, clean bandages. As he was done with his hand the young man looked at Malakie and placed a soft kiss on the palm the of his. The youngster didn’t flinch or pull the hand back, a good sign! He helped Malakie up on his feet, careful with his knee, and pulled him slowly towards him.  The youngster didn’t put up any resistence, walking as if in automatic towards the welcoming arms of his former master. Slowly the fog gave way to the beautiful violet eyes he adored so much, then the whole face, with the teasing full lips, right now streched in a soft, warm smile, then the fluffy hair again, then the strong arms and then gentle hands... Malakie tripped with his own feet and landed on Asra’s arms, feeling like in a perpetual dream. Thoughts of him being a burden, of him bothering Asra, of him being useless were circling his head, and he couldn’t do anything else but cry again. He didn’t want to let Asra touch him, but he needed a hug so much... He just felt... intrusive in the magician’s personal space. This... thing... he was, this weird monster that couldn’t control his mind... Abruptly he wanted to pace the room, check stuff again, he wanted to tell Asra to nail boards on the door so nobody could get in, that someone was looking for him, ready to hurt him... But the kid was just too exhausted, it had been a rough week, he had had very little sleep, he had been restricting his diet again... And this the culmination of all his demons coming together. Crying loudly, sobbing into Asra’s chest, Malakie finally hugged his beloved magician, scratching him unintentionally in his haste of not letting go. He sobbed apologies, he sobbed petitions of “please never leave me, please!!! I promise I’ll be good!! Please!!”, he held fast onto Asra, trying not to bother him, but at the same time trying not to let go.  Asra heard him, kissed his head and patted his back gently, rocking from side to side and caressing his arms to try and sooth him. Slowly he guided the crying mess of a youngster towards the kitchen, reassuring him that he won’t leave, ever. “Let’s come in here, love, there you go. That’s a good boy. Now sit down here, on this stool, yes, you’re doing great Mal! Alright, now, let me grab the teapot from this shelf. See? I’m still here, you just need to breath in with your nose and out with your mouth. There you go, see? You’re doing very good... This is Jasmine tea, the flowering kind, would you like it? I’ll use your favourite mug if you want me to,” he was saying, pulling a teapot, filling it with water and giving Malakie his favourite purle and gold tea mug with the white interior, plopping the tea bundle inside. He was used to speaking to him in that way, as if he was a small child. Not because he thought the youngster beneath him, but first because he had to reteach him everything from speaking to walking to eating, but also because it seemed to put Malakie at ease: simple orders were easier to follow for him, and the praise made him feel better, or so Asra hoped.  “Put it carefully on the table, good! How, peer in, watch what happens,” he added, smiling reassuringly as he poured the now boiling water into the mug. Malakie peered inside and saw how the bundle started to bloom into a small white flower, an equally small smile breaking into his lips. Asra smiled too and carefully took the mug and then Malakie by the hand. “C’mon, let’s go back to the room, alright? Faust is waiting and I bet she will love the smell of the tea, Mal...” The youngster let Asra guide him back, clinging strongly to his hand as he walked in a daze behind him. It was awful, forgetting what was real, and what wasn’t, those voices in his head telling him awful things not shutting up... but the same time it was alright, because Asra was there. Twice or thrice the had stopped dead in his tracks, banging his head with his free hand, but Asra’s voice brought him back to his senses and he’d stopped, following the magician again. Finally they made their way up the stairs, into the bedroom, where Faust was curled up in between the pillows. Asra let go of Malakies’ hand and let him lock the door one, two... just to two times. Alright, things were getting better. Malakie walked up to the bed and plopped on it, sighing tiredly. Faust woke up after hearing him and slithered towards him, coiling lovingly around his arm and resting her head on his hand.  “Thank you, Faust...” he whispered, caressing her gently, after which she went back to her pillows to sleep.  “I’m putting this here,” Asra said, putting the mug on the night stand and then climbing into bed next to the youngster, resting his back on the pillows, careful about Faust. “Want to come cuddle with me...?” he asked cautiously, reading his face intently. Malakie looked at Asra for a moment and then slowly climbed next to him, curling up on his chest, holding fast to him again. “I’m so sorry... I didn’t mean to shun you... I just-” “Shhhh... it’s alright, Mal, it’s perfectly alright. I understand, believe me, and you’re not mean, nor evil, nor a burden... Least of a monster!! You are Malakie, the kid who loves to eat pumpkin break while gossiping with Selasi, the young man who helps Portia with her groceries, the elegant youngster who learned to eat properly at a formal table when Nadia offered to teach... You’re the rascal who offered Jules to act as an alarm every two hours just so he will get home to Zayn on time, you’re the dutiful young one who gives Faust her food and water every day even if I can do it, just so I don’t have to... You’re the accomplished magician that has taught me new tricks yet doesn’t accept my compliments... You’re MY Malakie, the one who’s always there for me when I’m feeling down, no matter if you’re feeling down yourself. The one who puts others before himself no matter if that means more stress... You’re that Malakie. This crisis, these thoughts, they don’t define you, my love, they are just there. And it’s unfair you have to have them, but they don’t make up WHO you are... You are so much more than this, my beautiful one... And I love you just the way you are, crisis or no crisis, paranoia or no paranoia... I LOVE you, Malakie. I wish you could physically feel the love I have for your, everything you mean to me... How important your existence is to me... Please, never feel you’re a burden, you’re not, you’re my partner in life... And I’m never going to leave your side, Malakie, never... Everywhere I go I’ll take you with me, and I hope that everywhere you go you’ll me with you... That’s just how much I love, Mal...” Asra whispered. all the while caressing Mal’s hair, back, arms, hugging him tightly, kissing his head, temples and forehead, and finally making him look him straight in the eyes. “I love you, Malakie...” he whispered again, saying it more firmly, smiling reassuringly and caressing his face with his hands. The purple haired youngster smiled a watery smile, pressing his cheeks into Asra’s palms, feeling his love, his protection, his everything. He looked up at the white haired young man and in an impulsive move pushed himself up and kissed him softly on the dark, full lips. Asra opened his eyes in surprise, but smiled and hugging him close, kissed the youngster back, wiping away remaining tears from his cheeks. He broke the long yet soft kiss and brushed hair off his face. “Go on drink your tea, loved one, I bet it’s at the right temperature now... Then we’ll go to sleep, alright?” Malakie nodded, and drank his tea ceremoniously, licking his lips, enjoying the taste. Slowly sleep began to grab a hold of him and he left the mug on the table, sinking back into the bed, Asra in tow. The magician pulled the youngster close and enveloped him into his arms, hugging him protectively. Malakie smiled sleepily and snuggled again Asra, feeling his warm skin against his slightly colder one.  “Let’s take a day off tomorrow, yes?” Asra said, slyly, knowing that Mal had no way of saying no as he always did, being so sleepy and all. The kid nodded as Asra knew he would and snuggled against him too, smiling. “Good... We’ll go for a walk and have a picnic... Now, sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up, love...” Malakie smiled, too, feeling safe once again, protected. The voices in his head were still there, but Asra’s reassurances and love acted as a shield against them. They might never go away, they might never leave him in peace, he might have to live the rest of his life with panic attacks, weird obsessions, compulsions to match, paranoid thoughts... But he knew that Asra would give him the strength to fight back, to never stop fighting back, to never surrender. His love would be his armour, and in time hopefully he would create one of his own as well... In the meantime... it was nice to feel this loved and this protected... Nothing compared to this, and he was happy about it.

[notstars-doors]

Hi. if you’re still doing requests, what about Dick getting injured and Wally taking care of him after? Thank you!

This one was actually really fun, thanks for requesting it!!

Here we go!

~~~~

“Babe, I’mfine.”

“Don’t.Even.”

“Babe.”

“Dick, Iswear to god, if you try to get out of this wheelchair one more time I’m gonnadrug you.”

“Hey,that’s for-”

“I knowwhat it’s for, you asshole, Leslie gave me a very thorough explanation as tohow to administer your morphine. She also gave me clear instruction to use myjudgement as to when to administer itbecause you and the rest of your family aretoo fucking stubborn.”

Dickpouts, slumping back in his wheelchair as much as he can without injuringhimself further. “I have things to do, Wally.”

“Thingsthat can wait.”

“Wally-”

Wallyrolls the wheelchair to a halt in front of their apartment door, fumblingaround in his pocket for his keys. “Tim is more than capable of taking on yourcase load, and Bruce is there to help. The BPD has already given you paidleave. Just relax, babe. Please.”

Dick sighsas Wally unlocks the door, then pushes the wheelchair inside. The place is a mess,as they haven’t been back here from the hospital for at least a week. Wally hadonly left his bedside a handful of times, most of them to get coffee or food ora nurse when the drugs started to wear off and he could feel the agony in hisleg again.

The livingroom is in shambles, probably from Wally scrambling to pack up before rushingto the hospital, and the kitchen is exactly the way they left it: sink full ofdirty dishes, dinner left to sit on the stove in their hast to leave earlier inthe week. Dick would be ashamed of the place at this point if he wasn’t so exhausted.

They’dbeen called in on an emergency League mission, an attack on Metropolis that hadleft half the city destroyed. Dick had gotten caught in the blast as one of thebuildings collapsed, his right leg and a good part of his side getting torn up bythe shrapnel. He was close enough that it went right through his Kevlar, but thepadding managed to save his internal organs. His leg, however… well, it’ll be awhile before he’s swinging across rooftops, that’s for sure.

Wallywheels him over to the couch, quickly folding up and tossing aside the varietyof blankets that they keep there and fluffing a couple pillows.

“You wannashift over here for a bit? We can watch a movie or something.”

Dick isabout to protest, opening his mouth to tell his fiancé that he has far too much work to do to sit aroundand watch a movie. But when he meets Wally’s eyes, the words falter on histongue.

The manlooks about as tired as Dick feels.

Wally had gotteninjured in the fight as well, but his accelerated healing had taken care ofthat in no time. He’d been checked out of the hospital within hours, but thesecond he could leave his room he’d joined Dick in his. He’d woken up everytime Dick was lucid, held his hand through the pain, signed more paperwork thanshould ever be allowed.

Wally rancoffee for everyone who visited. He sat with Tim when Dick was still sleeping offthe surgery and comforted him, despite being worried sick himself. He raninterference with the Team and transferred all of Dick’s case work to the BatCavewithout blinking an eye. He’d called BPD before Dick was even awake and gottenhim several months paid leave.

He’d doneso much, even before the real work had been addressed. Dick is going to needphysical therapy after this. He’s going to lose muscle mass in spades and willneed to work that back up quickly enough to get back in the field. Probably fasterthan would be recommended. Dick knows he’s stubborn – he’s going to be stubborn about it – and he knows Wally’s going to putup with all of that with zero complaints.

So, Dickcan handle one movie night. For him.

“Soundsgood to me.” Dick smiles, raising his arms for Wally to help him up.

The gingerblinks in surprise, probably expecting at least a little bit of push back, butshakes it off quickly and helps Dick to his feet. Dick hisses through grittedteeth at the weight on his leg, but Wally sets him down gently on the couch andprops him up carefully.

“Cold?”

“Always.”

Wally chuckles,grabbing a soft throw blanket from the back of the couch and tossing it lightlyover Dick’s form.

“I coulduse my space heater of a fiancé too, y’know.” Dick mumbles as Wally tucks theblanket under his toes.

“I’vegotta get the rest of the stuff out of the car.” Wally grabs the remote fromthe coffee table and hands it to Dick. “I’ll be back in a minute. In the meantime,you pick a movie and decide what you want for dinner.”

Wally turnsto leave, but Dick grabs his wrist before he gets too far. “Wait.”

“What’s up?”

“Kiss.”

Wally rollshis eyes affectionately but complies, leaning over the back of the couch andcapturing Dick’s puckered lips in a gentle kiss.

Dick smilesinto it, his fingers slipping into Wally’s soft hair as they break apart. “Thankyou.”

“Don’t besilly, you don’t have to thank me for a ki-”

“No, I mean…”Dick tilts his head towards his fucked up leg, “Thank you.”

Wally looksat him for a minute, his gaze indecipherable, then shakes his head. “Hey. Don’tbe silly.”

He plantsanother kiss on the top of Dick’s head before zipping out of the apartment.Dick sighs, settling more comfortably into the couch. He switches on the TV,flicking through movie channels to see what’s on. He’s too lazy to search throughthe endless options on Netflix, resigned to letting the cable company decidefor him.

Wally’sback in no time, dropping various bags of clothing and medical equipment fromthe hospital in the front hall. He’ll end up dealing with that later, but he’sprobably too anxious to leave Dick alone for long. Which Dick has no problemwith at all, starting to feel a little cuddle-deprived at this point, afterhaving to sleep in a tiny hospital bed for a week.

“What didyou decide on?”

“SantaClause 2 and pizza. I don’t think I can handle Chinese food tonight.”

“Goodcall.” Wally nudges Dick forward on the couch a little bit, squeezing in to sitbehind him and let Dick settle against his chest.

Dick humsat the warmth that radiates from Wally’s body, wiggling closer and pulling Wally’sarms around his waist. “God, I missed this.”

Wally restshis cheek against the side of Dick’s head. “Me too.”

“Hey babe?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m okaynow.”

“I know.”

“You canstop worrying now.”

“Never.”

Dick tiltshis head, so he can peer up at Wally. “Babe.”

“Don’t bother.”

“I’m fine now.”

“Yeah. Now.”

“Wally.” Dickturns as much as he can to look Wally in the eyes. “It’s over. I’m in the clear,baby, you can-”

“Dick.” Wallyshakes his head, clamping his lips together for a second. “Just… let it go,okay?”

“Walls…”

“I’m nevergonna stop worrying. Okay?” He sighs. “It’s just… I know you’re not fragile,but… it’s…”

Dick purseshis lips, then nods. “I know.”

Wally letsout a deep breath, pressing his lips to Dick’s temple. “You scared the crapoutta me.”

Dick biteshis lip. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’snot your fault.” His hand grazes over Dick’s side absentmindedly, fingeringgently at edge of the gauze. “I just… I can’t help it. You’re so human.”

“You aretoo.”

“I canheal a broken bone in hours.”

Dicksmirks. “I can do that too… in a few months.”

Wally chuckles,shaking his head again. “Just… let me worry. Please?”

“Alright…”Dick agrees, then prods him sharply in the chest. “But if I catch you lookingat me all forlorn, I’m gonna mess up this leg even more and kick your ass.”

Wally laughslouder this time. “No sappy gazing, got it.”

“And nowatching me sleep either, that’s weird.”

“You do itall the time!”

“Because you’repretty, not because you’re dying!”

“You arenot dying, don’t you dare.”

“I’m notallowed to die, now?!”

“Nope. Offlimits.”

Dick rollshis eyes, tilting his head back to lean it on Wally’s shoulder. “Neither areyou.”

“Immortal together?”

“Forever.”

Wally nudgeshis nose against the side of Dick’s head, then presses another kiss to histemple.

“Deal.”

[emmaswanchoosesyou]

CSBB: Part of the Narrative (16/17)

Emma Swan just wants to write the follow-up to her bestselling debut novel, that’s all. But when she gets off to a rough start with her new editor, Killian Jones, she knows it’s not going according to plan. Then, an unexpected figure from Emma’s past reappears and life begins to mirror the crime thriller she’s penning. Suspicion and secrets abound–but love might too. A writer/editor AU with a thriller twist.

Rated E. Includes sexual content, kidnapping, some gore, mild violence, and minor character death–not to mention salty language! On Ao3 here.

Chapter warnings: There’s processing of neglectful parenting and a whole lot of fluff.

I can’t believe it, but this is the last real chapter! Next week is the epilogue, which I hope you’ll all enjoy. (Also, I forgot today was Monday and am thus very late with posting, oops.) Thank you so much to all of you who have been reading and commenting and waiting patiently…I just love you all a lot, okay? And of course, thanks to all of you who helped me get here. Thank you to all the wonderful ladies at @captainswanbigbang for all you’ve done to make this possible, and all the support you’ve given. Sophie @shady-swan-jones made the delightful banner and another photoset that I adore. Kayla @bleebug did some incredible art for the first, sixth, and fifteenth chapters, which you can check out here and here and here. And all the love and thanks to Kris @sambethe for beta-ing this and making it a ton better. Just...she’s the greatest.

[Ch. 1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15]

Chapter 16

Henry is found, and that leaves Emma and Killian to come up with some definitions, resolutions, and conclusions.

Killian

Killian watched as Emma all but ran out of the car before it stopped. There was Henry, wrapped in a blanket, and Emma flew toward him and pulled him into her arms. Henry seemed to be fine. He had a couple of scrapes and bruises, but otherwise seemed okay. And as he watched their reunion, Killian would have been lying if he tried to pretend his eyes were dry watching the woman he loved embrace her son.

He loved Emma Swan. Realistically, he had for a while. This wasn't even a new realization, but it was one he was now ready to accept. There was even a chance she might feel the same.

It had been some time since he had heard Milah’s voice in his subconscious, but he thought she would approve. They’d probably have liked each other, Emma and Milah, had they been given the opportunity to meet. Killian knew Milah would have wanted him to move on, and Emma...well, Emma was everything.

Shaking his head, he came back to the present. Emma and Henry were snuggled up, sitting on the trunk of the police cruiser. Regina stood nearby, running her fingers through his hair. Killian looked over at Robin, who was standing next to Detective Jameson, and smiled. Both returned his smile, enjoying the victory of this happy ending.

Robin's phone rang and he slumped with relief. "Thank you, Mulan. I'll let them know," he said after a moment. Turning back toward the group, Robin smiled again.

They all stared back at him.

"We have news. It seems that August has turned himself in, according to Mulan--er, Detective Fa."

"Oh my god, really?" Emma asked. Killian grabbed her hand, waiting for Robin to elaborate.

"Yes. Well, not turned himself in exactly, but he made himself easy to find, and he's very willing to cooperate with police. He also indicated that Cora Mills is indeed involved."  

"Hold on," said Sheriff Jameson. He went over to the squad car and had a quick conversation with one of his deputies on the walkie talkie. He came back looking satisfied. "We have someone on their way to pick up Cora right now. Unless she's done a bunk, she should be easy enough to find."

Regina let out a sigh and put an arm around Henry. "Well, let's hope she's not making herself scarce. I hate to admit it, but she has enough contacts that she could be difficult to find if that's what she wants."

The crackle of the walkie talkie sounded, and David stepped away again. He came back, a stunned look on his face. "Seems like she's actually turned herself in. Says she's willing to cooperate completely, on the condition that she talk to Regina first. We have enough to bring her in either way. So, honestly? It's up to you, Regina."

She looked indecisive, exchanging a look with Robin before glancing down at Henry. Then she seemed to steel herself and nodded. "Okay. Yes, I'll go with you. Whatever it takes to get her for what she's done."

"Do you want us to come with you?" Killian was surprised to hear himself asking the question, and he clearly wasn't the only one, judging by the looks on the faces of some of the others.

After a beat, Regina nodded gratefully. "Yes, I'd appreciate that. Thank you."

Emma squeezed his hand, and they all prepared themselves to head to the station.

&&&

The station was smaller than the BPD office Robin worked from, though Killian really should have expected that. This part of Maine wasn't exactly over-populated.

They walked in and spoke briefly, before agreeing that Robin, Regina, and Sheriff Jameson would all speak to Cora while Emma, Henry, and he waited in one of the back offices. They didn't want to seem confrontational, but they didn't want to leave Regina alone with her mother, especially if she was party to kidnapping and murder.

While they waited, Killian made a call to one of the few local eateries that delivered and arranged for a pizza for all of them. It took about forty-five minutes to arrive, and the rest of their party emerged around fifteen minutes after that. Killian, Emma, and Henry were all crowded around the table eating their pizza, though Killian had left his prosthetic hand resting at the small of Emma's back. Emma was still hugging Henry, and frankly, he was amazed that any of them were able to eat with all the affection going around. He would have scoffed had he not been so relieved.

When Regina emerged, sandwiched between Robin and David, she looked exhausted. One side of her mouth quirked up in a smile as she watched Henry eat, and Killian bit back a comment when he saw Robin place a lingering hand on Regina's arm as he whispered quietly with her. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but that was an interesting development.

After a couple more minutes, Regina made her way over to them. "Well, she confessed to...pretty much everything."

He and Emma leaned forward for the tale while the others took their seats around the table. Killian gestured to the pizza and told them all to grab a slice or two.

David sighed. "She really did. She copped to everything but the murder charges, but even there--I could see her being charged with accessory or conspiracy."

"And apparently August was terrified enough at what she'd say that he confessed literally everything else, most of which lines up with Cora's tale," Robin said.

"So...what happened? And why?" Emma asked.

"Apparently it was...me," Regina said, hesitating. "That is, my mother claims she did all of this for me. To make my life better, to get closer to me."

Henry looked up at her. "She kidnapped me for you?"

Regina put down her slice of pizza, knelt on the floor in front of Henry and took both of his hands in hers. "I pointed out how absolutely insane that was. As in, that would be the last thing I'd ever want to happen. But according to her, she missed being a part of my life, and she used that to justify...well, everything. She worked with August starting a while ago, so she's had an eye into Mills & Booth almost since the beginning.” Regina frowned. “And when I still wasn't receptive to her overtures, she started spying on me and trying to find other avenues into my life."

"Yikes," Emma said, letting out a breath. Killian silently agreed.

"She decided if there wasn't a way to get to me through business, she'd have to look closer to home. Somehow, she found out you gave birth to Henry," she continued, meeting Emma's eyes, "and she was thus responsible for making sure August brought you on, and then kept tabs on you. At least, she arranged it, even though it was apparently August's idea to use Killian to that end."

He cringed at the mention of his perfidy, but Emma reached for him. Henry raised an eyebrow, and he knew they would have to explain the tale in more depth late, but that would be a discussion to have with Emma--and probably Regina--later. Once things settled down a little.

Regina took a deep breath. "When it was clear that Emma wasn't going to try to come between me and Henry, she decided to intervene. She thought that if she drove a wedge between you and me," she said to Henry, "that I would turn to her, that I'd confide in her, ask her for advice. She even arranged for Henry to find a PI that was in her pocket and reporting to her. Since that wasn't happening, she used what she'd learned from August’s spying on Emma to--well, she came up with the kidnapping plot based on what you were writing, Emma. She was trying to frame you, or at least play us against each other."

"And it almost worked," Emma whispered and then let out a deep breath.

Swallowing, Regina agreed with a nod. "Almost. But they didn't count on Cleo. August realized Cleo was onto them, and he knew she could get them in a world of trouble. But Mother said she didn't realize Cleo was dead until the news hit the papers."

Killian cleared his throat. "So...she arranged the kidnapping? How? And to what end, if that's an appropriate question in, er, present company?" he asked, glancing at Henry quickly, his brow furrowed with concern.

Regina snorted. "Clearly, she couldn't do it herself. While she hasn't been part of my life or Henry's, he does know what she looks like. And Henry knew August. So apparently she blackmailed Mr. Jefferson, who owed her, and he took Henry and kept him at the house." Taking a breath, she continued. "I'm not sure what her endgame was in regards to Henry, but that's something the judges will be able to use against her. And obviously Sheriff Jameson has Mr. Jefferson in possession, but we're not sure how much he was involved at this point. In some ways, he was a victim as well. Apparently, my mother was influencing his custody agreement with his ex over his daughter. And I...can't fault him for wanting to hold onto his daughter," she said shakily.

Killian whistled, and Emma whispered, "Wow."

"Tell them about August," David said quietly, directing his command toward Robin, who nodded.

"As I mentioned earlier, August Booth seems to have confessed to everything. He's pretty willing to talk in exchange for leniency, and he said he'll tell us everything he has on Cora. He seems to think she's a bigger fish than he is. And we are finding that she seems to be involved in a lot of unsavory activities," Robin said.

They all sat quietly for a few minutes, absorbing all of the information. It was still sinking in, but Killian could see how knackered everyone at the table looked.

Finally, Henry broke the silence. "Is it over then? Are we safe?"

He could see the heartbreak in both Emma's and Regina's eyes as they exchanged a look, but Regina smiled at Henry as her eyes filled with tears, and she hoarsely told him, "I think so, baby."

&&&

After the emotional end to their search for Henry, all of them headed back to Boston to recover and rest. Regina and Henry had no interest in being at their home in Storybrooke, so they stayed at the apartment Regina kept in Boston. The first night back, Emma stayed with them, so Killian headed home for the first time in what felt like years, even if it had only been a few days.

The next day, Emma called Killian and asked him to come over, and to bring an overnight bag. He agreed without hesitation.

"I just...I'm glad Henry and Regina are here, but I don't particularly want to crash on their couch again tonight. We--Regina and I--want things to get back to normal for Henry as soon as they can," Emma said.

Killian laughed into the phone, not particularly amused, but always glad to hear from her. "And where do I come in?"

He could almost hear her smile through the phone. "Well, for starters, I thought of a really great ending for my book, and I guess I should talk to my editor about it, if he's game."

"Oh, he is," he purred into the phone. "For that and essentially anything else you'd ask, Swan."

She giggled. "Well, that's good, because I...I don't really want to sleep alone tonight. So I'm hoping he'll come join me."

Killian was on his feet and throwing things into a bag before he even responded. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

He arrived a couple hours later. It was still early afternoon, but he stopped for takeout anyway. Even if they weren't hungry now, they could microwave their food later. As soon as he knocked at her door, Emma opened it and threw herself into Killian's arms.

He breathed in her clean scent as he hugged her, dropping his bag just inside the door. She stepped away from him after a moment and pulled him inside, glancing up at him sheepishly. "Sorry for the ambush. Is it corny to say that I missed you?"

Killian smiled, and knew he was a lucky, lucky man. "Aye, but it's probably cornier for me to say that I've missed you from the moment we parted ways. Please ambush me anytime, love."

"I really do have work things I want to talk about, but I figured we could take a few days and just relax," Emma said, half apologetically.

"What does the boss lady say about that?" he asked jokingly. "I hear she's a bit of a hard-ass."

Emma snorted. "She is, but I think she needs a vacation as much as the rest of us. So we--everyone at Mills & Booth--are officially free until after Cleo's funeral."

He sobered at that. "When is it?"

"On Saturday. You'll come, right?"

"Of course," he said. "Do you need me to do anything?"

Emma hesitated and wrapped a hand around his arm. "Just...stay with me? I wasn't kidding about not wanting to be alone."

"I meant what I said,” he whispered, dropping a kiss to her temple, “about being here for you, however you need."

"Good. Because I do, you know. Need you that is," she said, stumbling over her words, a blush rising over her cheeks.

Killian's heart was beating so fast he was afraid it would make its way out of his chest. "Is that right?"

She paused and looked up at him before dropping her hand to his and pulling him toward the couch. "Yeah. I said we would talk when this was over, when we found Henry, and I--well, I'm all in. If you are."

He brushed a soft kiss over her lips as he pulled her into his lap. "You should know, Emma, that I'm in this for the long haul."

After that, it was a long time until either of them spoke again, instead letting their bodies communicate their passion and their desires.

&&&

On Friday morning, they were sitting in bed not wearing a stitch, but finally rested. Emma lay in his arms, and Killian smiled at her. The sheen of sweat covering them was beginning to cool them, and he pulled the coverlet over them.

One of Emma’s hands was curled at the base of his skull, her fingers running through his hair, sweaty as it was. “Oh! I just remembered. I know we’ve been pretty distracted the last couple of days, but I meant to tell you about the ending I worked out for the book.”

“Do tell, love,” he said, skimming his knuckles over her bare arm.

She shivered, and pressed herself more closely to him. “I think...that Jacob and his adoptive mother live happily ever after, even if his other mom--the social worker--gets to spend a lot of time with him and be part of his life too.”

He hummed, considering. “That sounds refreshing, and...definitely like a good thing, if it can be managed. It seems like it could be, too.” He paused and drew a circle on the skin at her elbow. “And what about the social worker’s love interest?”

“Well, I think she’s definitely fallen for him,” Emma said, not meeting his eyes, but smiling and running a hand through his chest hair. “She might not be ready to admit how much she cares yet, but she probably loves him.”

“And I can tell he loves her. From the way you’ve written him, obviously,” he said, grinning at her.

She looked up and kissed him, a mere peck on the lips, but infused with affection. “So you think they can all work something out? The social worker, the mom, and Jacob? And the sexy love interest?”

“Sexy, hmm?” Killian murmured. “I think so. Both narratively and in the more, uh, meta sense we seem to be alluding to.”

“Good,” said Emma, pulling him on top of her.

&&&

Monday dawned clear and cold. Killian finally felt rested, and he was glad to be heading back to work.

He’d spent most of the weekend at Emma’s, spending time with her as well as with Henry and Regina when they were around. There had even been an outing the previous day to Granny’s, where his and Emma’s friends all finally had a chance to mingle. (And he’d never admit it out loud, but seeing Regina’s reaction to a greasy Boston diner? Priceless.)

The funeral had been Saturday. Even though he had just started to get to know Cleo and had never met her family, it was a wrenching, emotional service. Her husband and son appeared so undone and adrift, and he wondered what would become of them. Emma knew them better than most of the people there from Mills & Booth, and mentioned she wanted to make sure they stayed abreast of their goings-on.

That night and the previous, they had stayed at his apartment, whereas the rest of the time, last night included, they slept at Emma's. It was strange--in the best way--to be waking up beside her and getting ready to head into work with her. She didn't have to be in as early as he did, but Regina wanted to meet with her later, after she met with Killian.

So they took a cab, hoping it would be warm enough to walk back later. He looked away from the window, glancing at Emma out of the corner of his eye. He smiled when he saw their intertwined fingers. As awful as some parts of the preceding week had been, Killian felt they had laid a good foundation for their fledgling relationship.

When they walked into the lobby, Killian was relieved to see it seemed to have been restored to some semblance of normalcy. Ariel looked more like herself, if still a little subdued. He and Emma parted ways in the hall. She headed back down to the lobby so she could grab some coffee, and he headed to Regina’s office.

Her door was cracked, but he knocked to give her a head’s up. Making his way in, he took the seat she gestured to across the desk from her. “Regina, how’s it going this morning?”

She smiled back at him. “It’s going well. Henry is enjoying the break from school, and the nightmares haven’t been as bad.”

“That’s excellent. Oh, I’m supposed to tell you--Emma is bringing coffee, so if you want something other than your usual almond milk latte, let me know so I can text her,” he said.

“Thank you.” she said with a nod. “How are you?” She looked at him with curiosity and something he couldn’t quite decipher in her eyes.

He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m well. And well-rested, fortunately.”

There was a slightly awkward lull in the conversation, but after a few moments Regina cleared her throat. “That’s good. I--well, this isn’t why I asked you to the meeting, but have you heard anything from Robin lately? He asked me on a date, but hasn’t told me what we’re doing.”

“Ah, I see how it is.” He smirked and drummed his fingers against his chin. “Trying to pump me for information on my mate’s plans and see if he’s mentioned you, are you? Did you say yes?”

“I did,” she said. “With him having Roland, he just gets things from my life that most people don’t seem to. And...he smells like forest, even when we’re nowhere near the woods.”

Killian shifted in his seat. He wasn’t exactly comfortable with these emotional confidences from Regina, but he couldn’t deny he was happy that she and his friend seemed to have connected. He smiled a trifle awkwardly, but nodded in understanding. Nonetheless, he wished Emma were here so that she could reply in a more suitable fashion.

Regina seemed to sense his discomfort, and nodded brusquely. “Anyway, the reason I asked you here was two-fold. For starters, with my mother and August in custody, your immigration problems seem to have magically disappeared.” She shook her head. “Shocking, I know.”

“Imagine that,” he drawled, sarcasm dripping in every syllable.

“Yes, all of a sudden, Immigration seems to have magically ‘found’ your paperwork.”

Killian snorted. “Bureaucracy, truly there for us in our time of need.”

Regina laughed and continued, “With that out of the way, we don’t have to pay you as a contractor anymore.”

“My taxes are going to be a nightmare,” he bemoaned.

“Probably. Especially if you take my offer, which I’m hoping you will.” She tapped on her desk, a level stare directed at him.

He met her eyes. “What’s the offer?”

“I want you to take Cleo’s job as Senior Editor.”

He sat there, stunned. He was qualified, but he hadn’t been there long, and…

Regina seemed to pick up on his surprise and uncertainty. “I know you haven’t been here long, but I’m confident you can do it. And I trust you the way I trusted Cleo. I know you’ll have Mills & Booth’s best interests at heart.”

“Wow. Um, so it’s still Mills & Booth?” he asked, trying to take a few moments to consider his answer.

She sighed. “Yes, I think so. Unless I can find a way to retain brand recognition, the name stays. But...I’m thinking about making an addition to it.”

“Oh?”

“I love my company, I really do. But I don’t want the entire thing resting on my shoulders, and August did alleviate some of that. He ended up forfeiting his half when he confessed, though. So I’m also going to offer you enough shares of Mills & Booth that you’d be part owner, if you want it.”

Now Killian was speechless.

“It would be about 30%, and we could re-evaluate after a year or so. But I know from your background check that you have the assets, and I think you could do it. You’re certainly more qualified than August, and I like you a whole hell of a lot better,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said, “I might need some time to consider it, but I can have an answer for you soon.”

Regina smiled. “Good. Talk to Emma about it. Especially because with how those changes will affect your working relationship with her,” she paused. “And speaking of the devil…”

Emma came through the cracked door bearing a tray of coffee and a bag of pastries. “The devil brings treats, so respect her.”

Killian laughed and stood to help, while Regina rolled her eyes and cleared a spot on her desk for the pastries. As soon as they all got settled in, Emma in the chair beside him, they began again.

“I made him the offer I told you about,” Regina told Emma.

She smiled. “Good. What did he say?”

“Excuse me, I’m still in the room,” he said, putting on an aggrieved air, but completely ruining it by winking at Emma. “I said I’d think about it. I’m leaning toward yes, depending on those changes in regards to my work with Emma.”

Regina nodded. “Indeed. I’m happy with what I know of your book, Emma, and how you two have worked together. But...I want Killian to step into a role with more responsibility, which might mean he wouldn’t have the time for as much hands-on editing.”

“That makes sense,” she said, chewing on her bottom lip. “I’m not thrilled about it, but it’s not like he wouldn’t have any input.”

“Exactly, and you made it clear you can work together, even when your, er, personal involvement wasn’t...ideal. So I can’t help but think this would only be a good thing for your relationship.”

“What do you mean?” Killian interrupted. “And I wouldn’t be able to edit Emma’s work?”

“I think Emma should have an agent, for starters.” She turned her attention back to Emma. “You didn’t have one to begin with, and August kind of acted as one for you. Then Graham and now Killian have both been champions of your work. But you should have someone dedicated to that, and whom you are paying. Someone whose loyalties are never in question.”

“Well, Regina, it does help that Killian isn’t spying on me anymore,” Emma teased.

He gave her a quelling--but affectionate--look. “But I am 100% team Emma.”

“Yes, in a personal sense,” Regina said, “but you’re also focused on making her work better, while trying to do your other work, too. Besides, if you accept my offer, your loyalties to Mills & Booth might occasionally conflict with acting on Emma’s behalf. Not that I foresee any confrontations,” she raised her hands to placate him, seeing him on the verge of interrupting with objections, “but it could come up.”

Emma sat there thoughtfully before speaking. “I think you’re right, Regina. I...I really should have an agent. And I’d be happy to continue to work with Killian, but it...it might be nice not to have work and personal stuff so mixed up.”

“And, look, Emma. I believe in you. I--I know you’ve been worried about things since you found out that August brought you on at my mother’s behest, because you’re Henry’s mother too. But you’re good at what you do. The numbers speak for themselves--you’re a fantastic writer. I’d be an idiot not to want to work with you, even if we didn’t have other ties,” Regina said bluntly, her characteristic honesty kind instead of cutting this time.

Killian looked over at Emma and saw the relief and joy, shining from her, and he made up his mind. “I’ll do it. I still want to work with Emma as much as possible, but I’ll take the position.”

“Excellent,” Regina said with a smile, and he and Emma echoed it.

&&&

Later that day, after more meetings for both of them, Killian and Emma finally headed back to her apartment. As they walked down the street, she caught him up on the conversation she had had later with Regina about Henry, and how she could be more involved with his life.

“He’ll spend one weekend a month with me during the school year. Summers he’ll be able to stay for a week or two at a time, but we’re going to play that by ear,” Emma said with a bounce to her step.

Killian smiled down at her, swinging her arm with his. She looked so happy, between the news about Henry and the cold air nipping at her cheeks. “What about the holidays, love? Will you be able to see him then?”

Emma looked thoughtful. “You know, it’s weird. For most of my life, I wanted to find my parents. Or have them find me. But for the first time ever, not having them is a good thing, because there’s nothing stopping us from all getting together on the holidays. Regina doesn’t really have anyone either, so...we talked about just doing holidays together.”

“A found family,” Killian mused.

She smiled up at him. “Yeah. You would be welcome too, if you want.”

“Is there room for me? In this found family?” He knew she was inviting him to more than a holiday dinner, but he wanted the clarification, wanted to hear the words.

“Always,” she said, squeezing his hand.

He beamed down at her, and she returned his smile radiantly. Tucking her arm through his, Killian looked forward--to their path, a home, a future, and Emma.

He couldn’t wait.

[rason-rodd]

Nightwing: The Rise of Flamebird (Chapter 2)

Summary: Nightwing and Flamebird were two ancient Kryptonian gods, yet completely opposite. He was darkness and rebirth, tasked to hunt the evils in the shadows. She was fire and destruction, born to annihilate the creations of her mate, Vohc The Builder. Destined to fall in love and achieve great things but fated to be separated.That’s the story Dick Grayson and Terry Olsen heard. Strange that it is also, somehow, their story

Major Pairing: Nightwing/Dick Grayson x Flamebird/Original Female Character

Chapter Summary: Terry moves in Blüdhaven with her long-time boyfriend, still unsure this was a good idea. In the meantime, Nightwing is meeting Detective Svoboda to talk about some mysterious child disappearance.

[Previous Chapter] [READ ON AO3]

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A fresh start. He thought that it was what they needed. He thought that it was what could save their couple, what would rekindle the flame, that ‘intense love they had once for each other’. Those were his words. But she was not so sure he was right.     Actually she did not know if they could save anything, if they could forget, if they could move on. Too much had happened lately. She had hurt him, again, this time even more than the one before. She had broken his heart as she would always break everything around her, everything she cared for or everyone that cared for her.             Their couple was like their new apartment. Looking new, willing to be cosy but still smelling like humidity and mould and feeling so cold. The white walls perhaps, or the angular Scandinavian decoration with its sharp triangles patterns. Trendy according to magazines, but she hated it.

Terry was finishing unpacking the dishes, occasionally popping the bubble wrap between her small fingers, when she felt her boyfriend’s arms around her waist and his lips in her neck. “Do you like our new place, baby?” She stiffened lightly. It had become a reflex.     She turned around and smiled to please him. And as usual, he didn’t see how fake it was. “Great. Cause I really want us to feel like home here.” He moved a wavy strand of blond hair away from her face and gazed at her with his deep brown eyes. “I think this is our chance to start from scratch” “So do I” She lied. And he grinned sincerely before catching her by the hips again to kiss her with a burning passion, his hands wandering from her back down her behind. But the only thing he got in return was coldness. His sudden eagerness left her indifferent. Worse, it left her uncomfortable. His thin lips now in her neck, she could only picture him as a leech stuck to her. And she hated herself for that.

Josh was the perfect boyfriend. But he was not made for her. They first met when they were both students at Metropolis University. She was studying Criminology and Psychology. He was in Med School and a Football player, which made him one of the most coveted guys on Campus. But he had only eyes for her, the pencil in her bun when she was studying at the library and the way she was glowering at him when he was bothering her late at night asking if she had Wi-Fi in her room. “Worst way to flirt, ever”. Or not. His persistence bore its fruit and few months later they were moving in together. But the joy, the excitement and the passion didn’t last and soon faded. “It’s not you it’s just … me.” Cliché but true. She left him. He came back. They tried again. She left him. He came back. They tried again. And on. And on. And on.   Josh and Terry’s relationship was based on ups and downs. But as he would see more ups, she would see more downs. Because that was just Terry: realistic and not as in love with him as he was in love with her.

“I don’t want to, Josh. Not today” She said to calm his ardour. He didn’t grumble or sigh but she could see he was frustrated. And she could understand why. Months had passed since the last time they had sex. The two students hooking up among boxes, books and notes were long gone. Today they were just two lonely people, one with his face buried in the sand, thinking that all this was just an umpteenth insignificant ordeal that they’ll eventually go through, the other not really knowing why she was still here and why she was still giving hope to the man who loved her. “ Are you stressed because of tomorrow?” He tried to change the subject as always. She sighed, popping the bubble paper in her hands even quicker. Tomorrow was her first day at Blüdhaven Police Department. “Do you remember that feeling we had when we’re kids and we’re about to enter middle school?” “New class. New teacher. No friends?”           He tried to guess with a wide smile. She nodded. “Yeah. Scary right?” He laughed and grabbed her hands “Everything will be fine. You’ll do fine. Cause you’re the best. Plus, BPD must wait for you like the arrival of the Messiah. ” She chuckled slightly. “Why are you saying this?”   “Don’t you read articles on the net? Journalists are constantly bashing the police saying that they are useless and flawed. Most cases are solved thanks to some masked vigilante.”       “ Nightwing. Yeah I’ve heard of him.” She placed the plates in the cupboard without adding a word. He expected more. He expected something else.         “ Oh come one don’t tell you support that vigilantism crap!”   “As long as criminals are put behind bars, I think that’s all that matters. We had Superman in Metropolis. No one complained. You didn’t complain.”       “ Don’t compare the threats in Metropolis with the threats here. Nightwing would not make it through one day in Metropolis.”

He would not make it through the night. Not at this rate. He was tired, exhausted and his wounds were not fully healed yet. But he couldn’t stop. The city needed him. Blüdhaven needed Nightwing so Dick Grayson would have to wait.       He winced and moaned from the pain when he landed on the rooftop. He approached the Detective Svoboda, limping. She noticed and stared at him from head to toes, genuinely worried but hiding it behind her eternal nonchalance and the smoke of her cigarillo. “Have you thought about seeing a doctor? That gimpy leg looks baaaad.”         “ It’s fine.” He retorted. “What’s happening?”   “ A disappearance. One child missing in Ravenshood Heights” She handed him a picture of a smiling red-haired young boy in his parents’ arms. “His name is Isaac Peterson. 9 years old. Orphan since the age of 4. Adopted two months ago. Missing for 3 days. My colleagues think he ran away.” Nightwing stared at the picture. It was recent. It had been taken in front of a cinema and the movies on the posters were still on the bill. The kid was wearing a brand new Blüdhaven Brawlers football jersey; limited edition, very expensive, as the game console in his pocket. He wasn’t just smiling, he was grinning and so were his adoptive parents. His body language – very close, his arms around their necks – showed he loved them a lot. “He didn’t.”   “ That’s what the adoptive parents said and that’s what I thought as well but thanks for confirming it.” “ Any clues whatsoever?”         “ None. The mother put the kid to sleep and when she entered the room to wake him up in the morning he was gone. Window wide open. No sign of breaking in. No prints. Nothing.” Nightwing frowned, intrigued and disturbed by the report.          A child could not vanish like that. There must be clues somewhere, witnesses, anything. “What about the neighbours?”         “ One is an old man, completely deaf, disgusting cataract. Didn’t hear or see a thing. The others is a couple but they have been in vacation for two weeks.”         “ I’ll do everything I can to help.” He gave back the picture to Elise. “We’ll find him, Detective.” She allowed herself to smile lightly. She knew he was telling the truth. She trusted him. She just hated that the police and the media were that harsh with him. “ Thank you, kid. And again …”     “ Be discreet. I know.” He sighed before jumping from the rooftop and she watched him leave with worry.

There was something wrong with him. She could tell it. Since the day she shot him, since that case with the Judge, she could feel he wasn’t the same anymore. He was morose, almost sullen. His usual bright smile was gone like his traditional wit and his playfulness. And she missed all that. But worse, he didn’t seem like he cared. And his negligence was scaring her. She was scared for him. “I meant ‘take care of yourself, kid’”

She wasn’t the only one worried. Everyone around him was. Bruce, Alfred, Barbara, Wally, even Damian. All had told him to take it easy, to rest, to take some time to heal and for himself, to take care of Dick Grayson a bit. But that was like talking to a brick wall. Pointless and a waste of time. He had decided to devote himself body and soul to this city and there was nothing anyone could do and there was no more going back now, not after all the things he had lost lately. Dick Grayson’s life was a mess. It had slipped away between his fingers. His social life was garbage, his love life no more, and his gym studio almost neglected along with his clients.           So focusing entirely on Nightwing was the best thing, the only thing, he could do right now. And as he was jumping from rooftop to rooftop he knew nothing would stop him. Nothing, not even a cruciate ligament injury. “Damn” He cursed as he fell flat on his face. The pain was stabbing at his knee like hundreds of tiny needles. He stayed down a few seconds before trying to stand up again, in vain. “Oh come on!” He punched the concrete, angry, trying to contain the tears of rage in his eyes. He was exhausted. And so was his body.

He was right. He would not go through the night.

[NEXT CHAPTER]

[minddimin]

book I’m writing

“Wake up Ella!” my mother calls up to my room, I groan and rub my eyes. I look at the clock and it reads 8:00 a.m. Darn it I’m going to be late to work again. I’m only sixteen but I have a really good job at the pet store and I’m attending a private school but I don’t go there until the afternoon. I haven’t really been looking forward to anything lately.  I have two best friends, their names are Becca and Zoey and they are really fun to hang out with. We make fun of the boys in our school and laugh at the popular girls. We live in the town of Weston and I guess it’s an alright town. It’s pretty small town and I like it, it’s pretty cozy. We all get together at Christmas at the Community Centre and exchange gifts to whomever we are closest with. Recently I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder and Depression. I see a psychiatrist in the next town over, I haven’t told my friends but I think they know because I’ve been acting kind of off lately. I don’t want to tell them because I feel they might not look at me the same again and they’ll treat me differently. I don’t want them to do that, and what if the whole school overhears me tell them. I’ll be the school joke and that would be chaotic. I’ve been feeling weird with the medications, I’m bloated and I eat a lot now. I’m extremely thirsty. My mom says it’s good to drink water. I like drinking water though. So I better get off to work before I’m late.  I walk through the doors and smile at my co-workers and my boss. I put on my work gear and head to work. Emma Hastley, she’s a popular girl, and she walks to the cat food section. She ponders at a few, and I take a deep breath and walk over. I ask her, “Do you need any help?” she looks up and smiles, “Hi Ella, how are you today?” Luckily she’s one of the nice popular girls. “I’m fine thanks, how are you? That brand is good.” I say pointing to the cat food next to her, smiling. “Oh that’s really great to hear, I’m doing great thanks. Are you going to Max Austin’s party this weekend?” She says picking up the cat food I pointed out and begins walking to the till. “Mm. I’m not sure, maybe.” I say shoving my hands in my pockets. “Oh okay, well hope to see you there. I haven’t seen you at a party in months!” she said handing her money, I take out the change and hand it to her.  “I’ll sure think about it, maybe I’ll surprise everybody.” I sign out of work and head to school. I walk through the woods and the woods open up to the back of the school. I see all the classmates that are waiting outside the school and I groan. Why does there have to be so much people here? I walk through the crowd and see my two friends Becca and Zoey, “Hi guys. I’m sorry I’m late. I got off work late and woke up late. So that’s my reason for being late, what did I miss?” “Oh Ella!” they both exclaim, “we missed you, where have you been?!  We haven’t seen you all weekend. We thought for sure you’d be at Joel’s party!” I look at the ground and rub my foot into the ground. “I’ve been really busy. I had to go out of town to do some grocery shopping.” Well that isn’t a total lie. I did have an appointment with my psychiatrist and mom and I made it a girls’ day. We went to the salon and got manicures and pedicures. And we did do grocery shopping, so I wasn’t making things up. “I totally wanted to be there though!” I lied. I recently started to hate the parties and going out every weekend. I would’ve wanted to stay home and do girly things in my room and read magazines and talk about boys we liked. But that is totally grade eight. Nobody is into that anymore. I lost interest in many things, I don’t do soccer anymore. I miss the way my life used to be but nothing is interesting enough for me. I tried to get into Track and Field last month but I dropped out and my parents weren’t impressed because they paid to get me into it. Another thing I failed at. I am sitting in English class, and I am bored out of my mind. English isn’t a class I’m really good at. I’m flawless at Math though and that makes it my favorite subject. I doodle a picture of the teacher in my notebook, and he walks by, picking up my notebook and looking at it. “Well Ella, this is a really nice picture but you should be taking notes.” The class laughs, and I turn red in embarrassment. Why did he have to point me out? So embarrassing! I look behind me and see Lindsay Williams and Lacy Munro whispering and passing a note to Tony Adelaide and he opens it, and smirks. He looks up at me, and grins. I quickly look away and I hear the whispers, so I look at the back of the class and see people quickly look away as they notice me staring at them. The note is passed around the class and it eventually makes its way to me, and I open it and it says. “Ella is so weird. Bet she has a crush on the teacher.” I look down at my desk and sit there in silence as the whispers continue. I turn red, and I get up and walk out of the classroom. Mr. Andrews calls after me but I ignore him, I walk into the girls’ bathroom and sit on the floor in one of the stalls. I don’t understand the point of my life, I write in my notebook as I cry. I leave the school and start walking home, taking the same route I did this afternoon. I wipe the tear that rolled down my cheek, and take a deep breath. In and out, just like Dr. Stephens taught me. I enter my home and go up to my bedroom, I pull out my favorite book; two girls staring at the ceiling by Lucy Frank and put on some headphones. I put the music to Kim Taylor- Lost and Found. I read a couple chapters and I put the book down, and sit at my desk, trying to do some homework from the night before. I sigh, and look out the window. I see my parents pull up and I go to my bed and pretend to be asleep. “Ella!” they call up to my bedroom, and I hear their footsteps approach. They open my bedroom door and peek in, my mother Alice comes in and my father David puts a blanket over me, and my mother smooths the blanket and kisses my forehead. My parents are so loving, I think, I don’t deserve them… I could’ve been something better for them. I could’ve been a better daughter with good grades and many skills. But I’m not. My father smooths my hair, “we’ll talk to her later… let her sleep.” They leave my room and close the door, I sigh. Slowly opening my eyes, I turn onto my back and look at the ceiling. I wonder what they want to talk to me about, probably about leaving school. Darn it, I forgot my backpack at school too. I “wake up” and walk to the bathroom, closing the door and close the door. I start taking off my clothes and turn on the shower. I like the water hot and then cold. I dry off and put some comfy clothes on. I walk downstairs and enter the kitchen. My mother stands by the oven putting in a roast with potatoes and vegetables. “Looks fantastic mom,” I say. She smiles and calls over my father. “We want to talk to you about what happened at school today sweetie, why’d you walk out of school? Your teachers are worried, and so are we. Are you feeling okay? Do we need to try a different med-“ I interrupt them “Mom, dad. Enough, I’m okay. I swear. It’s just… I needed to come home because I felt ill. We don’t have to try a different medication. I’m okay. It’s just the flu or something.” They nod their heads and look down. “We know it’s something more sweetie, you don’t have to hide anything from us. We hope you know that. We won’t bug you anymore, but if there’s something wrong just tell us, okay?” I nod. “Yeah, Mom and Dad, I’ll tell you.” I say as I retreat upstairs, and go into my room. I sit down at my desk and take out my drawing book, and sketch a few pictures. I grab my laptop and go to my bed, and scroll through Tumblr. I look at the pictures of the people cutting and quotes about suicide and depression and what it’s like having BPD. I look at my pencil sharpener and I feel the urge to take the blades out. You’re thinking irrationally Ella, you won’t do that. Who the hell would? Many people cope well with this disorder. I think to myself. I take a deep breath and re-post a picture I seen. I sigh again, “Ella! Dinner’s ready!” my mother calls to me. “I’m coming mom!” I yell at her, and close my laptop. I walk down the steps and sit at my usual spot, my mother sets everything on the table and she asks “do you want some vegetables sweetie?” I shrug, “maybe only a little bit. I’m not really hungry.” My father looks at my mother, “are you sure you’re feeling okay sweetie? You’re usually hungry by the time we’re home.” I nod. I take a bite of my food and thank my mom. “Thanks for supper mom, I really appreciate it.” I smile to show them that I’m okay. “No problem sweetie, I like for you to have a nice supper to keep that body of yours healthy.” They think that I’ve been mentally ill since the age of thirteen. I mean I thought I was going through some normal teenage emotions and changes. But it turns out I have two mental illnesses and that’s not a great thing to find out, I’m totally embarrassed. I hear about the stigma surrounding BPD and I don’t like what people have to say about it. People make it seem like having a mental illness is bad, and I guess in a way it is. You lose interest in things, you’re constantly in bed, and bored out of your mind but you can’t bring yourself to do anything fun because you won’t like it anyway. There isn’t much keeping me here now, I often think of death but I’m too afraid to die. I mean, why am I having these thoughts lately? Maybe the medication is making me feel this way, I should stop taking them. I’m in my bedroom, listening to music with my headphones on and lying in bed looking up at the ceiling, in the dark. I’m mouthing along to the words and it seems okay. But I have learned not to hope so much that things are going good, because once I start thinking that things are going to be okay they turn to shit. I’m tired of the constant shift in my emotions. It’s exhausting to be this way all the time. I better get to bed. I have school in the morning. Friday’s you go to school in the morning, and the rest of the week is in the afternoons. I’m not sure I mentioned that. I quickly fall asleep while listening to Blue Jeans by Lana Del Rey. I wake up to the sun shining through the blinds on my window, I groan. I look at the time and it reads 6:00 a.m. I get up and brush my hair, quickly throwing it into a French braid. I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth and put on some make up, doing this routine is so hard every day. It’s a simple routine, but it gets annoying when you’re depressed because you’d rather be lying in bed. My life wasn’t always this way, it was simple. I remember some happy moments from when I was twelve, my birthday party was amazing. We had a bouncy castle and Lacy was my best friend in Elementary School. I loved frogs and bugs, while Lacy loved Barbie, so I guess that’s why we grew apart. We just don’t have the same interests, but now I am a girl just living in an ordinary town with two best friends and the perfect parents. But I seem to be the problem, I don’t know why I have these thoughts but I have them and it’s so difficult to deal with. I looked my illness up and it said we have different perceptions of ourselves. That we think lowly of ourselves, and we have suicidal thoughts and we can act on them and be impulsive. I’m completely terrified of what I might do. I think I’ll have to go into the hospital because I don’t know if I’ll be able to manage on my own, it’s getting harder to manage my emotions and these medications don’t seem to be working. I have to talk to my parents before I do something… I close my diary and close my eyes, and I take a deep breath trying to manage my emotions. Cool off and slow my thoughts. I go into my parents’ bedroom and crawl into bed with them, my mother wakes up and she wraps her arms around me. My father wakes up and smiles, tucking my hair behind my ear. I start to cry and they look at me with concerned faces. They ask, “Ella, what’s the matter?” I take a deep breath in and continue crying, my mother gets tears in her face. My father holds me, and my mother holds my hand, “Mom, Dad. I’ve been thinking – thinking that I might kill myself.” My mother starts to cry and so does my father. We lay like that for a while, just holding each other and they thank me for telling them. They tell me that we’re going to get through things together and that they’ll get me the help they need no matter how much it may cost. “Ella, your life is precious to us and we love you so much, let’s go to the hospital.” I nod and go to my room to pack my things, we get in the car and we start the two hour drive to six towns later, which reveal a big city. Two hours later, we arrive at the hospital and we check in with the nurses. They immediately call me back and the doctor comes in with a concerned face, and he introduces himself. “Hi Ella, my name is Doctor Richardson. Nice to meet you, I want to say thank you for coming in today. You’re so brave.” I shake his hand and nod, trying to contain my emotions as he utters those words. “Why don’t we talk about what brought these feelings on lately?” My tears flow out of me like a river dam that burst and I say through my crying, “I was recently diagnosed by my psychiatrist with Borderline Personality Disorder and Depression, and I guess all that and the emotions I get and the thoughts that associate with the illnesses just got to me. I came in today so I wouldn’t hurt myself because I don’t want to die, I want to live my life happily but lately I’m not happy. I dropped out of so many things that I enjoyed, I was going to be my class Valedictorian but then my grades dropped because I couldn’t get myself out of bed. I just recently started going back to school, and now. I can’t even bring myself to school because there are kids passing notes about me because I was drawing a picture of the teacher and – and everything is just falling apart.” I cry harder and try to catch my breath, he pushes a box of Kleenex towards me and I take a tissue.  “I’m so sorry Mom and Dad. I should’ve told you before it got this bad.” They dab their eyes with tissues and my mother blows her nose, “it’s okay sweetie, we’re going to get you help now.”  The doctor finishes his notes and he says, “So Ella, we’re going to admit you to the adolescent mental health ward and I’ll contact your psychiatrist and tell her that we’re admitting you.” I thank the doctor and change into the hospital gown they gave me. The nurse smiled at me and introduced herself. “Hi Ella, I’m Hannah. I’ll be the nurse looking after you today until you go up to the floor.” I forced a smile, “Hi.” It took two hours to get me up to the ward and the nurses and child and youth workers there were nice to me. There were twelve other people there. They all seemed nice, some had scars on their arms and others kept to themselves. I sit by myself when the food arrives, and I don’t even eat it. I push the food around on my plate and I ask to be excused, “yes Ella you may leave the dining room.” A nurse follows me, “Hi Ella, I’m Natalia. Are you okay? I noticed you didn’t eat anything.” I walk to my room and I say, “I’m just not hungry. I think I’m going to sleep for a bit.” She nods, “okay. Well there’s going to be group in a bit and I’ll come to get you or your roommate will wake you up.” She smiles at me and closes the door, I put my clothes away in the dresser they have. I lie on my bed and close my eyes, I fall asleep quickly, exhausted from all the crying. I wake to rustling beside me, I look over at the other side of the room, “oh, hello. I’m Taylor. It’s time for group. I’m just collecting my papers for group.” She smiles at me, and I notice the cuts on her arm and she notices, so she pulls her sleeve down. “Well, come on then.” I get up and smooth my covers, and follow her out to the room down the hallway. “Everyone here is nice and so is the therapist. Her name is Felicia.” I nod and we enter the room, everyone looks at me and I look down, pulling at my sleeves. Felicia looks up from the paperwork and she smiles at me, “Hi you must be Ella. Come have a seat.” I take a seat beside Natalia, and the guy sitting beside Natalia says “Hi, I’m Wade.” I nod and force a smile, “Oh we got a smile out of her!” Natalia exclaims, “I smile.” I say, looking down and the smile on my face disappears. “Oh Ella, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-“ she says quietly, I cut her off. “It’s fine. I’m just going to go back to my room, I leave and I go to my room. I lie back down and close my eyes, and try to fight off the tears. I just wanted to fold up and stop, I didn’t want to think anymore. The therapist Felicia comes in. She knocks. “Hello Ella?” I groan. “I’m here to talk to you, I want you to know that it’s okay if you miss one session but you have to come from now on.” I sit up and look at her, “I’m sorry for coming here. There are people here with bigger problems.” She looks me in the eyes, and sits beside me. “Just like you.”

She gets up and leaves, I sit there thinking about what she said. I took my diary out of my backpack and got a pen, I wrote a page and a half. I don’t know if being here in the hospital is a good thing for me. I feel like I don’t belong in here, I think I’ll get my parents to sign me out. But what if I go home and I feel bad again… I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to hurt my parents. Maybe I could stick this out. I’m just a lost girl who doesn’t matter after all. I’m never going to get better. That’s what the website said. So it must be true. I have to leave before I get my hopes up too high. I get up and go to the nursing station. “Hi, I was wondering if I could get the papers to sign myself out. I’d really appreciate it.” The nurse behind the station looks up, and she smiles at me. “I’m sorry sweetie. I can’t without the doctors’ permission. You’ll have to speak with your psychiatrist.” I rub my hands on my pants, “Please. I want to go home.” In that instant, the door to the ward opens and I run towards it. The orderlies run after me and they eventually catch me and drag me back to the ward. I scream and kick. They grab my legs and arms. They carry me back as I struggle. I’m begging them to let me go home, and there are people looking at us. We get back to the ward and they put me in my room, but there are restraints there on my bed. They moved my roommate out of the room and they put me on the bed, I’m screaming for help but no one is moving to help me. Instead the nurses come to help the orderlies put me in these restraints and I continue screaming and fighting. The psychiatrist comes in and looks at me, and says something to the nurse. The other nurses come back with a needle with some fluid in it and I try to squirm away because I have a fear of needles. “PLEASE NO! NO. I DON’T WANT THAT!” They hold me still and the nurse calmly talks to me, “It’s okay sweetheart, one little pinch. Deep breath in and out.” The fluid immediately knocks me out, I wake up a couple hours later. I’m still in the restraints and I hear the voices of my parents shouting. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO OUR DAUGHTER?” I yell for them, “MOM. DAD, HELP ME!” They rush towards the sound of my voice and burst through the doors, they see me restrained to the bed. “Get her out of these restraints. We are taking our daughter home.” My father demands. “I’m afraid you can’t do that, she is a danger to herself and she clearly showed that to us by taking off. So we are holding her under a seventy two hour observation. If you have a problem with that contact a lawyer. If you wish to do so, you may contact the Hearing Board and apply for a hearing. I’m sorry Mr. and Mrs. Jorgenson. We’ll have to escort you out,” says the psychiatrist. The orderlies move towards my parents and they grab a hold of my father, and drag him out. “ELLA. WE’LL COME FOR YOU.” I start to cry and try to get out of the restraints, they sedate me again and I sleep until the next day. The psychiatrist comes in, and gets the orderlies to take the restraints off. “Hi Ella, sorry about yesterday we were just fearing for your safety. Your parents have applied for a hearing, and if they lose you will have to stay for the full seventy two hours. After that, I’m not sure what we’re going to do but if you manage to keep yourself safe while you’re here I’m sure we can let you go home. Is that a deal?” I nod frantically, and rub my wrists and ankles. “I’m sure it was uncomfortable being in the restraints but we had to ensure that you were safe. We don’t want you hurting yourself while you’re here in the hospital.”

I walk the halls of the ward and spot my old roommate. I go up to her and say, “I’m sorry you had to be moved out of your room. I’m sure that sucked, who’s your roommate now?” She looks at me and smiles, “oh it’s okay. We all have tough moments and my new roommate is Michelle. She’s a nice girl but I wish I was your roommate we could’ve had fun and did girly things.” I stuff my hands in my pockets and look down, “yeah that would’ve been nice. I haven’t done anything girly in a long time.  I haven’t had much interest in anything lately so having an interest in something is really great.” I smile at her. Wade walks up to us, and he smiles at me. “Hi Ella, are you okay? I heard what happened and I just want you to know that we’re here for you if you ever need to talk. Sometimes talking to the psychiatrist can be a little intimidating, so you can talk to us.” I look him in the eyes and thank him, “really? That would be so great.” I grin. Today’s been the greatest I’ve felt in a really long time, one of the nurses come up and smiles. “So glad to see you smiling today Ella, if you need anything come to the nursing station.” Wade waves at me to get my attention and smiles when I look at him. “Ella, did anyone tell you how beautiful you are?” I blush and look down. “Oh Wade!” Laughs Taylor. ”That was so smooth.” I thank him and turn to leave. I rush down the hallway and look back to see him watching me. That was unexpected.  I wonder why he said that. I go into the bathroom and they have those plastic mirrors and I look at myself. Am I really beautiful? I look at my long, wavy brown hair and full lips. I look into my hazel eyes and smirk. I guess I’m not too bad now that he planted that in my head. I twirl my hair with my finger. I walk out of the bathroom and walk to my room to have a little snooze before group. I quickly fall asleep and wake to the sound of knocking on my door. “Wake up Ella, it’s time for group. My name’s Charlie and I’m going to be your nurse today. Your child and youth worker will be Jenna.” He smiles at me and writes his name on the board in my room. He quickly leaves and waves goodbye before he closes the door. I get up and brush my teeth, putting my hair in a bun. I put on comfy clothes, and I walk to group. I sit beside Wade and Taylor. Wade smiles at me and I turn red immediately. I turn my focus to the therapist. I sit in awe taking in everything she was saying. I go up to her after the group was over and smiled, “Felicia. That was such a great group. I totally didn’t want it to end. I think I’m going to like this.” She smiles at me, “well hello Ella, it’s good to see that you are here today. We’ll be learning more about the topic tomorrow if you really enjoyed it.” I nod, “I’ll totally be there. I want to learn more before I go home, because I could really use these skills and integrate them into everyday life.” She nods and walks with me down the hall towards the nursing station, “I’m glad you want to do that. I should take note of that so the psychiatrist sees how much you want to get better.” I grin and thank her. I follow Wade and Taylor to the dining room. Dinner smells really good and my stomach rumbles. Tonight dinner is Meatballs and Spaghetti, and I scarf the food down from not eating anything all day. Wade walks me back to my room and we stop outside my room, and I look at him. “Why’d you call me beautiful?” I ask, and he looks at me and grins, “Because you are beautiful. And I don’t just say that to girls, I mean it Ella.” I blush and look away, I spot a nurse and shoo him away before we get in trouble. “I’ll talk to you later Ella, meet me in the dining room.” I nod and he walks away, I watch him as he rounds the corner to the men’s part of the ward. I go into my room and my heart is racing, I lean against the door and I go to my dresser. I pull out my diary and write about how I’m feeling and write down what happened today.

Becca and Zoey came to visit me today. It was quite awkward for me to let them see me in here. I feel quite crazy now that they know about my mental illnesses. They kept looking at each other and it seemed like they wanted to tell me something but they were holding back. I’m worried that they might tell the whole school but they’re my best friends and they’d never do such a thing. I’m just being paranoid. It was great to see a familiar face, my parents haven’t come back. I think it’s because the ward won’t let them. At least that’s what I think. I miss them so much and it’s only been 34 hours since I came here. The time is going by so slowly, I never met up with Wade last night. I couldn’t bring myself to do that, I am not here for a relationship with someone. I’m here to focus on myself, and I can’t have any distractions because I got to get home, and being home may seem scary now. But I have to eventually go back. I can’t live here in the hospital all my life. I talked to the psychiatrist an hour ago and he said that my parents lost the hearing. So I’m stuck here until my seventy two hours are up and he wants to put me on stronger medications to help with my mood swings and impulsive thoughts. This is great because I don’t want to feel the way I felt when I came in. My thoughts are chaotic right now and my mind is collapsing in one itself again. I don’t think that I can handle any of this much longer. I’m going to ask for a pass so I can go to the store and buy a razor. Or a bottle of pills, it’ll be simple.

I asked the psychiatrist if I could go on a pass and he said it was fine, my, my, what a stupid psychiatrist. Unless he wants me dead this could be a possibility. I’m going to go out on my pass and thank God I packed my debit card to buy these things. I should leave a note behind for my parents to read once the hospital realizes I’m gone. I’ve thought about it before, about killing myself. But not like this. Not so real. I go to my room and write a note to my parents. Mom and Dad, I want you to know that I love you so much. You are the greatest parents ever and I never imagined when I was younger that I would result to this. I never thought I’d be this way and you probably thought the same. I’m sorry if I hurt you. I know this might be difficult. Why did I have to be this way, I have you two. The perfect parents and I had good academic results. Living has become this constant nightmare, and it affects my everyday life. My school, my grades, my accomplishments, all I know is that I wake up every morning feeling like complete shit. Tell my friends that I love them, and I love you too. I wish that I was strong enough to fight this to the end, but there is not an end to this. This is the only end and I had to do this, so don’t blame yourselves because it’s not your fault. I love you. A tear rolls down my face and I fold up the note, writing please give to my parents, and I leave. I run through the hospital and down the hospital steps, onto the street where I nearly get hit by a car. The driver honks his horn and yells at me, I run a couple blocks down the road and I enter a store, I go to the pharmacy area and look for Tylenol. I go to the tools area and find an Xacto-knife. I purchase these objects and walk to a wooded area and walk at least 8 kilometres in. I open the bottle of pills and begin shoving handfuls of pills into my mouth and downing them with the Gatorade I bought. I then put the Xacto-knife on my wrists and push down and slice. I bite my lip and scream quietly. I cut deep and I lie down and close my eyes. Hours pass and I hear sirens from way off in the distance. They won’t find me in time. I think, and then I begin losing consciousness. “ELLA! ELLA!” I don’t fight to keep my eyes open, I feel myself slipping away. And darkness swallows me whole.

[thepaperpanda]

THE SILENT SHOUT || PART I

A/N: my best friend has been diagnosed as borderline. Currently I have an occasion to spend a lot of time with him, I am also a witness of his anxiety and panic attacks, of his rage outbursts and incertitude, which is overhelming him on and on. Looking at him one day a thought came up to my mind: if BPD can be caused by some traumatic experiences, maybe Bucky was suffering to similar symptoms also. After all things Hydra had done to him, I suppose he might likely suffered from this disorder. That’s why I decided to make a little series of bpd!Bucky. The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. Based on a true events.

Words: 1624

Warnings: self harming, panic attack, bpd, angst, bpd!Bucky, sad!Bucky, depression, blood, graphic description of violence, swearing

Author: Rouge

It has been a week since he moved to your house.

From the very beginning you were more worried than happy about that idea of Steve. Despite your positive attitude towards Bucky, you good knew he may cause a lot of problems.

But on the other hand you understood what Steve has been going through for last couple of years. Notorious uncertainty, sadness, sorrow. He was a mess and you wanted to do anything to comfort him.

When you heard that Shield finally found Bucky, alive, you felt a deep relief. It meant the end of Steve’s mental pain. It meant that since then everything could have been seen only in a bright colors.

When Steve came to you with his idea of taking Bucky to your common house, you didn’t even try to hide your dissatisfaction. A lot of arguments had taken place then in between two of you. But finally Steve managed to melt your heart and you said yes.

However, keeping the good of your child in your mind, you ensured Steve that if something wrong will about to happen, you will move out, taking baby with you. He agreed on that little deal without blinking.

You had to reconcile with a fact your man was sharing his love at three, not only at two… It obviously was hurting you, sometimes Bucky seemed to be Steve’s number one, but you had to accept it. They were friends since childhood, they grew up together, they were fighting together, arm to arm. In such situation you could do nothing. You didn’t want to hurt Steve by your listlessness at Bucky’s problems. You knew that man went through a lot in his life. Like Steve, Bucky Barnes was only a pawn in that brutal game. Like everyone of you…

When you met him for the first time since 5 years, you were shocked.

He looked incredibly good, some bruises still could have been seen at his muscular arm and neck, few scars on his collarbones, a swollen jaw. But he looked good as for someone who has been tortured for months.

But something had changed and you easily felt that.

His eyes.

There were no more happiness in them. That beautiful blue eyes of his, which were glowing with a mischief sparks formerly, now were dark and bereft the will of life.

“Y/N! Can you hold the door please!?” Steve screamed aloud.

You got up from the leather sofa in living room and quickly went to open the door. As soon as you did, you saw several boxes and a bit of Steve’s bangs above them.

“Do you need help?” you asked amicably, opening doors as wide as you could.

“No, dear, just hold on them” Steve said. Slowly and carefully he passed through the threshold and put boxes down in the hallway.

You were observing him for a while, then you sight fell on someone standing in front of the door.

James Bucky Barnes.

Standing there dressed in a large black leather jacket, dark jeans and grey shirt, with a black hat on his head, Bucky slowly raised his chin and looked briefly into your eyes.

“Hi, Y/N” he gave you a small smile, a little wince appeared on his face.

“Bucky” you smiled happily, whispering his name and taking step back to make a space for him. “Come in, come in.”

Hesitantly he walked inside and then you closed the door behind him making sure they were locked.

“Follow me” you gave him another smile and you led him to the large living room.

 It was the biggest room in Steve’s house. One wall had windows and door leading to a big balcony. The room was painted in light orange mixed with lime. The floorboards were made of pear tree wood that had a nice, warm shade. There was a brownish carpet with an abstractive pattern in the middle of the room. Steve had fitted your common living room with stylish furniture. There was a big dark brown leather corner sofa on the left. It had light brow cushions. In front of it, there was an ebony coffee table with sculptured legs and edges. There also were two brown armchairs. The table were placed on the carpet. Next to the sofa, there was a tall lamp which metal parts were coloured patina gold. Opposite to the sofa there was a big plasma TV standing on a stand similar to the coffee table. Below the TV there was a black DVD player. Right to it, an ebony case with clouded glass doors could be found. There also was a small showcase where you put some books, films and wine glasses. Above the sofa there was a wide painting showing a stunning sunset on a seaside. The windows were decorated with a short white delicate curtain and fantasy yellow drape. On the windowsill, there standed a flowerpot with an orchid. Next to it there was a picture frame with a photo made on your vacation in Dubai. The room was really warm and cosy.

 “Do you want to drink something?” you asked politely when Bucky sat on the sofa. “Coffee, please…” he looked at you and took his hat off, placing it next to him.

 You walked to the kitchen and put a kettle on a stove. Suddenly you felt a pair of familiar strong hands at your slim waist.

“Thank you…” Steve whispered directly into your ear, leaning down to kiss your cheek from behind. “It means a lot not only to me, Y/N.” “I know, Steve” you gave a slight nod and slowly turned your head towards him so you could reach his rough lips and kissed them.

Steve hummed happily at the unexpected kiss, his grasp got tighten around your waist.

With an agile movement you slipped out of his arms, pecking his lips.

“He is my friend too, Steve” you said, pouring a boiling water to the cup with black coffee. “It was obvious I’ll say yes in a respond to your idea” you shrugged slightly. “I was and am still worried about Sebastian, our child.” you lifted your chin and sadly glanced at Steve.

He rubbed his chin.

“I know… But he is working on those… Outbursts..” Captain sighed deeply. “Okay. I will move boxes to his room. They are still blocking the passage through the corridor” he let out a quiet giggle before he left kitchen.

 You took a cup of coffee and came back to the living room.

“Here you go” you put the cup on the table, smiling at Bucky and taking a seat in one of the armchairs. “So… How are you, Buck? You look magnificent” you smirked warmly, crossing your legs.

“I’m doing good lately” he took a sip of coffee, humming in an approval of the bitter taste. “You’re a real coffee master, Y/N.”

You laughed shortly.

“Oh, thank you! Charming as always, Buck!” you winked at him.

He woke up in the middle of the night.

For a while he was laying motionless on his back, glaring up at ceiling.

Then he slowly got up. When he was walking towards bathroom, he could feel a chill at his bare legs and torso. He had only his black boxers on.

He entered the bathroom and carefully closed the door behind him, trying not to make any sounds which could woke you and Steve up.

Bucky stared at the scars lining his right wrist, observing it as if from a great distance. Other days he would count them and their meanings, one for every time they'd hurt him. Every time he hated himself for lying to people he loved. But it was so easy, too easy for him to promise them that he had taken the antidepressants.  And now, feeling the scars beneath his fingers, Bucky could picture it so vividly that he could feel each sharp intake of breath, each tear that slid from his pale skin. As the bathtub faucet ran cold water over his neck and the blade glowed crimson beneath his clumsy fingers, his head would tilt back, his mouth open in silent agony but also perverse joy, because he knew that he should not be feeling this, doing this, enjoying this as he did. And his anger exploded with each swift movement of the razor, his pain that so often destroyed him coating the floor of the tub in sickening contrast to the pale tile.  He remembered kneeling on this same floor, attacking his biceps until he could take it no longer and fell back, exhausted, against the bathroom cabinet. It was few weeks ago, when Steve agreed to doss him when he escaped the hospital run by Shield. The urge was so strong that he clenched his fists to keep from reaching for the blade. It was so tempting. So painfully tempting. Bucky thought desperately of his wrist again, aching to feel sadness for the delicate skin that he so readily destroyed. He forced his fingers to stay on the shining tiles, but so eager was he for the pain.. And he cut the skin once again, observing like a little stream of redness was pouring down, mixing with a cold water at his feet. He felt like his skin was burning under the touch of a cold razor, he felt a bit dizzy because of the blood which was flowing out of the cut. Bucky chuckled nervously, but it turned into breathless weeping. He stayed here as long as he had to, until the urge was gone. Because he had to fight this and he knew that. Because of the five words he kept repeating in his mind, kept vowing, swearing to himself. 

I won’t draw blood tonight. 

[dccomicsbookshelf]

Dead Hearts: Kids That I Once Knew

Alfred watches.

***

 “Thanks Alfie!” The young lady waved as she left, both hands full of cookies.

 Young Miss Stephanie had picked up on Master Dick’s affectionate name for him very quickly. She was in and out quite often these days, despite Master Bruce’s distaste, either visiting with Master Timothy or Mistress Cassandra, a welcome (in Alfred’s humble opinion) spot of light.

He cleans and bandages the cut on her side. Long but not deep, not dangerous. This time.

She pulls her shirt down, hiding the bandage and scars and stretch marks on her abdomen.

“Thanks Alfie.”

***

 Alfred was amazed at young Timothy’s resilience, pushing his way gently into their lives, filling some of the void left behind at Master Jason’s death. Master Richard was often home then, teaching the child tricks and many times dragging him off for extra-curricular activities that did not result in violence but rather laughter. He was a quiet young man, but with a light in his eyes and an eagerness in his movement that spoke of his happiness at becoming part of their family.

 He truly was a miracle worker.

Alfred sighs as he picks his way through the cluttered apartment. Master Tim is seated in front of his computer, eyes focused on the screen as his hand gropes for his coffee cup, only to replace it in disgust when he finds it to be empty. There are dark rings beneath his frantic eyes and he has lost weight where there was none to lose in the first place. Alfred places a bowl of soup beside him and does his best to ignore the boy’s mutters.

“He can’t be dead. He can’t be. Not him too.”

***

 Young Master Jason was wary, but in the moments when he forgot to be afraid there was a very real joy and wonder in his eyes. Alfred regretted being so distant with Master Richard. Perhaps if he had been more open to the youngster’s overtures of affection things would have turned out different. He made a point to be available this time.

 Master Jason was not as physically open as Master Richard had been, but the smile on his face when Alfred set a plate of bread slices and butter on the counter in front of him lit up the whole kitchen.

They straggle in tonight, exhausted and wounded. The Red Hood blew up two warehouses and had at least a brief encounter with each of them, evidenced in the cuts and bruises decorating Master Dick’s face and Master Timothy’s torso. The way Mistress Cassandra treads carefully around the outside of the group, hovering and unsure. Master Damian’s grumbles and the blank and dead look in Master Bruce’s eyes.

***

 Alfred smiled to himself watching Miss Barbara and Master Richard, their heads bent over their homework. She was such a wonderful young lady, Miss Gordon. With a delightful sense of humor and a no-nonsense approach that did wonders for Master Bruce and Master Richard.

 Master Richard was certainly fond of her.

 He hid his smile as he stepped into the room with the tray of cookies and hot chocolate, but allowed his mild amusement at the way Master Richard blushed when he was caught staring at Miss Barbara's hair.

 "Thank you Alfred." The young lady beamed up at him, her long red ringlets glistening in the drawing room firelight. "These are delicious."

"Oracle to Batcave."

He reaches over to the main computer.

"Batcave, Agent A speaking."

"Could you let B know that there are rumors of the Joker getting ready to make a move. I'm sending the information now."

The computer beeps, message received.

"Indeed. And when might you be joining us for dinner Miss Oracle?"

There is silence. There has been a lot of silence since she gave Master Dick back his ring.

"Maybe sometime. Probably not soon. Oracle out."

***

 “And then, we swooped in and POW!” Master Richard did a flip off of the banister onto the floor, peering up at Alfred with wide, shining eyes. “We saved them Alfie. We saved them.”

 Alfred gave a small quirk of his lips in reply. “Indeed Master Richard.”

 The boy grinned and dropped so that he was walking on his hands, still fast enough that he remained in front of Alfred as they made their way through the hall. “It was awesome.”

Master Dick is slumped in front of the Bat-Computer, picking at Batman’s utility belt spread out in front of him. “What am I doing, Alfred?” he says quietly as Alfred busies himself gathering up the remaining evidence of the night’s patrol. “I’m screwing everything up. Tim left, Jason’s lost it, we haven’t heard from Cass in weeks, and Damian hates me.” He drops his face into his hands, his shoulders tense beneath his BPD sweatshirt. “I can’t hold this family together. I’m just lying to myself.”

***

This was not the plan. Alfred caught himself thinking as he nervously glanced back at Mistress Wayne, who was perched on the side of the bed, strands of her hair plastered to her cheek, breathing heavily through her nose as the February storm raged outside.

 In the event of being unable to safely transport her to the hospital for the birth, Master Wayne should have been there at least. He was a doctor after all.

 His father hobbled into the room, far too old to be up and about like that. “You are doing well Mistress Martha.” He coaxed as he gently assisted the young woman into a more comfortable position and beckoned Alfred closer. “You’ll have to catch lad, I don’t want to trust my old arms with something so important."

 An hour later, Alfred stared down at the small, squirming bundle in his arms, a child he had just delivered and cleaned. As he passed the boy into his mother’s hands he realized that, even after his own father passed away, he would not be leaving the Wayne Family. He was here to stay after all, confound the old man! He had to have planned it that way.

Master Bruce is alive, yes, but his parents are not and Alfred is a former soldier and actor. He does not know what to do with a child, let alone one who wanders the halls of the manor with a pinched, white face and eyes that burn with a hooded anger and furious grief. He hears the young master wake at night from the dreams and aches to rush to his side but restrains himself. It is not his place.

***

Alfred watches, and mourns the loss.